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 veins of roots wove beneath the muddy earth like ancient serpents, spreading across the ground in silent dominion. Lalzari’s gaze drifted upward, awe-struck by the cathedral of twisted branches above her, shielding her from the shadows chasing her soul. The forest stretched endlessly into the deep, cozy abyss of dusk, where the night began to curl like smoke. A solitary bird, settled in the safety of the towering oak, poured its song into the breeze—a lullaby for the encroaching darkness.
Twilight bled over the foliage, staining the leaves with shadow and whispers. As night thickened, the sounds of life around her dulled, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. The scent of burning wood hung in the humid air, its warmth curling through the trees. That inferno, fierce and unforgiving, had been sparked by her hand—the very hand that housed the lightning coursing through her veins. It was a strange comfort, the fire’s aftermath, as though destruction had embraced her, soothing the storm inside.
Who am I becoming? Lalzari’s thoughts swirled as memories of blood splattering across the earth played on repeat. She had taken life, torn through flesh, and yet she felt nothing. Was her numbness born of justice, or had her heart grown cold? The question lingered, heavy as stone, but no answer surfaced.
“The fire… it was beautiful,” she whispered into the night, her voice barely a breath. The memory of the blaze haunted her mind, its savage beauty, how it consumed without remorse, without pause. Flames, so pure in their destruction, swallowed everything faster than a child’s first cry. They showed no mercy, and in that unrelenting force, there was something breathtaking, something that had entranced the warrior deep inside her.
Her reverie was shattered when she caught Rehamal’s gaze, lingering on her with unsettling intensity. The night-wrapped path back to the Kingdom of Laham felt longer under that scrutiny. “What?” Lalzari’s tone sharpened, her arms crossing over her chest as if to guard her secrets. If anyone heard my thoughts, they'd say I was tainted... corrupted. But Rehamal only shook her head, a quiet smile playing on her lips.
“You’re just… cool,” she said softly, leaving Lalzari to blink in surprise at the unexpected compliment. Heat rose in her cheeks, and before her defenses could crack, she quickly diverted the conversation.
“So… what’s going on with you and Zikki?” Lalzari teased, hoping to shift the focus off herself. “You can’t deny it.” Rehamal sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a story untold, as if her heart had been holding back the tide for too long.
“It’s... a love story gone wrong,” Rehamal admitted, her voice laced with sorrow. Her angular features softened, the sadness creeping into her expression like a storm cloud rolling over a once-bright sky. She turned her head slightly, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. But to hide tears from Lalzari was to try and conceal rain in a desert, futile and transparent.
“What happened?” Lalzari’s voice was soft, her own pain momentarily forgotten as she sensed Rehamal’s soul curling in on itself like a wounded animal. She didn’t need to ask twice; the anguish was etched on Rehamal’s face, raw and untamed.
