When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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The devil's baby, the words reverberated in Lalzari’s mind, swirling like a cursed whisper on the wind as she watched the three rebels fall unnaturally silent. Their quiet felt dense, like a thick fog that blurred the very sound waves around them, warping their voices into mute gestures. The silence itself seemed to hum with menace, pressing down on her skin like damp air before a storm.
“I don’t even know what to call it… Perhaps a cult of revolting predators,” Zomayah croaked, her voice rough and jagged, like broken glass being ground beneath a boot. “They visit these orphanages, do unspeakable things to the children... You’ll only truly understand when you see it with your own eyes. But it’s dark... so dark. Do we have a deal?” she spluttered, her words spilling out like something half-choked.
The thought of the orphanages turned Rehamal’s stomach, and she pushed aside the food she'd been devouring, nausea twisting her insides. Lalzari, though, agreed to the deal without fully knowing the depths of what she was wading into, yet something told her it was too late to turn back now.
"This battle is bigger than just a mission. We will help you," Rehamal declared, her voice cutting through the thick air like the first clap of thunder before a storm breaks. Her eyes burned fiercely, twin suns blazing against the shadows that curled around them. The siblings glared back at her, their rage palpable, but they remained silent, outshone by her force of will.
"And I don’t want to hear a word from either of you!" Rehamal snapped, her voice like a lash. "We will help. This is no time for pride. There are innocent children at stake." Her voice softened, but only slightly. "I’m a blacksmith’s daughter; I’ll forge us armor myself if I must. We leave tonight.” She rose to her feet, standing tall and unyielding, as though the very earth beneath her had rooted her strength deep.
The energy radiating from Rehamal was a silent storm, like the fierce wind that whips through a desolate harbor, causing the boats to sway even when anchored. It wasn’t loud, but it held a terrifying power, untamable. Her presence awakened something in Lalzari, something primal, a hunger to fight, to win. This was the moment. This is it. This is my time to finally do some good, Lalzari thought, her heartbeat quickening as the desire to act surged through her veins.
Lalzari wiped her hands on a damp white cloth handed to her by Zikki, her mind whirling, crafting the perfect plan in silence. Without a word, she understood the weight of what Zomayah had revealed. Khushboo, she thought, she must have been one of the orphans once. Her resolve deepened. Whatever they did, it would be in honor of Khushboo. A silent vow.
"I’ll need armor for myself, Malaa, and Ahmali. Malaa’s built like me, and Ahmali... well, she’s still a child." Lalzari’s voice cut through the tense air, her words carrying the weight of unspoken understanding. The rebels exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes wide with disbelief, as though Lalzari had just committed some unforgivable sin. But she saw through them, behind their hesitation, there were cracks, fractures in their façade of defiance.
