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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Mareeb’s footsteps echoed through the Kingdom’s hollow hallway, the sound like soft slaps, small, frustrated strikes from a weary parent. The air felt heavy, like it had been trapped too long behind the sun-stained windows, and Lalzari, walking behind him, couldn’t ignore the sickly yellow tint that had bled into the once-white walls. The Kingdom itself is rotting, she thought, the decay seeping into every crevice like a parasite gnawing at its bones. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter with each step, her warrior’s resolve fighting to drown out the gnawing anxiety of what lay behind the King’s door.
Mareeb halted before the door, his slender frame casting an elongated shadow across the threshold, but he stepped aside, as always, deferring to Lalzari. She moved to take the lead, but his hand, cold and delicate as the spider’s legs, caught her shoulder, his grip light but arresting.
“Omid... Be prepared.” His voice quivered, a faint tremor that sent a shiver through Lalzari’s spine. She didn’t need him to say more. Whatever lay beyond that door was something that would tear at the foundations of her being. But after Husayrah’s death, after her heart had been hollowed and stripped bare, Lalzari knew that there was little left in this world that could break her again.
With a deafening (BANG!), the door flung open, slamming against the stone like a thunderclap. Lalzari surged forward, anger coursing through her veins before she even knew the source of it. She stood tall, unyielding like an ancient tree rooted deep into the earth—untouched by wind, flame, or man. Her curls broke free from her bun, and in one fluid motion, she released her emei piercers, the silver needles flashing through the dim light like lightning ready to strike.
The room flickered with an eerie glow. A fire raged at its center, its flames licking at the air, feeding on more than just wood. The charred remains of bodies—The Sirs—crackled within the blaze, their once-powerful forms now kindling. Their limbs twisted grotesquely, as though even in death, they still struggled. The scent of burning flesh clawed at her throat, and Lalzari’s heart plummeted.
“I’m... I’m too late,” she whispered, the words like ash in her mouth. Fury bubbled up, a heat hotter than the fire before her. Her skin tingled, glowing as golden veins of light spread from her core, pulsing with an otherworldly energy. Without hesitation, she unleashed it, pouring her power into the room, the golden light flooding from her pores and colliding with the flames. In an instant, the inferno bowed to her will, the flames withering, choking on her light until they vanished completely.
All that remained were scorched bones and the grotesque blackened remnants of what had once been warriors.
“What have you done!” Lalzari’s voice tore through the silence like a tempest as she stormed toward Talbazar, who stood at the edge of the room, a twisted grin on his face—a serpent coiled and ready to strike.
“Oh, the King’s precious jewel. Didn’t you know?” His voice slithered through the air, each word dripping with venom. “The Sirs called for you as their flesh burned. They screamed your name, princess, as the flames devoured them. You’ve been playing your own game, haven’t you? Not on the King’s side at all... making plans of your own?”
