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 three travelers could see the erratic sprawl of The Sirs’ tents from a distance, their silhouettes dancing like shadows against a blood-streaked sky. As they drew closer, Lalzari’s stomach twisted, the sensation like wearing a corset forged from unyielding iron. Each step tightened the invisible bands, constricting her breath. The charred remnants of bodies littered the ground, their identities swallowed by the fire’s wrath. They were unrecognisable, reduced to fragile husks that once carried life.
Rehamal had joined them, a choice that had brought fleeting moments of relief. Her idle chatter, though insignificant, acted like a thin ray of sunlight piercing through the storm. But the warmth was brief, quickly swallowed by the mounting dread that clung to them like a second skin.
The devastated warriors wore their guilt like a festering wound, growing unnoticed but devouring them from within. Lalzari’s mind churned with poisonous thoughts. How could I have been so late? How could this have happened under my watch? The questions gnawed at her. If she didn’t have eyes everywhere, her plan would crumble. The kingdom of Laham was a breeding ground for chaos, where every move was a deadly game of chess. And Lalzari knew, if she failed to see the intent behind each action, she would be checkmated in this battle for the throne.
“I must forge stronger ties,” she muttered, her voice cracking the heavy silence. “People need to report back to me.”
Ahmali’s grip on her hand tightened, the touch cold and reassuring, a silent agreement between two souls too drained for words. Ahmali’s thoughts were elsewhere, her eyes vacant as if searching through the shadows for the faces of the missing. The question of who from her tribe—her family—was lost hung in the air like smoke.
“We'll do better for you, Lalzari. Me, Zikki, and Zomayah will watch over the village. We'll learn their every move. You focus on the castle,” Rehamal said, her voice filled with determination. Lalzari managed a smile, brief and grateful. She trusted Rehamal with her life, and that sliver of trust was a rare gem in this fractured world.
As they reached The Sirs, Zunaid spotted them and moved like a storm gathering momentum. His approach was heavy, his face etched with worry and anger, always teetering on the edge of an outburst.
"Ahmali! Where have you been?" he roared, his voice a thunderclap in the fragile air. Ahmali kept her head bowed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill.
“Zunaid... we have terrible news. Some of The Sirs have been taken by Laham. I’m sorry, I—” Lalzari started, but Zunaid’s hand shot up, silencing her with an aggressive sweep. His eyes blazed, but Lalzari recognised the despair behind the fire. Whatever bond they once shared, it was now a scar that would never fully heal.
A long sigh escaped Zunaid, as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. “Galina, Uhudam, Sameer, Rumood... I knew they wouldn’t come back. It’s not your fault.” His voice was brittle, cracked under the strain of too many losses. Lalzari looked up, shocked by the sudden shift in his demeanor. The hatred she had nursed for the battle-hardened warrior evaporated in that moment, replaced by something akin to pity.
