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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The wind slashed through the trees, making them creak and moan like the bones of ancient giants, bending under the weight of time. Snow sparkled under a thin crust of ice, so brittle that even the slightest gust sent fresh flakes skittering across its hardened shell.
Sunlight ricocheted off the snow, a blazing mirage that dared fingers to touch it—only to snatch their warmth away like a thief. Balencia stood alongside Laham’s soldiers, the castle gates yawning open before them as they readied to descend upon the village.
“Why must I masquerade as a wolf, only to wear the wool of the flock?” she muttered, the words barely a breath against her lips. “This isn’t me… This isn’t the Balencia I want to be…” Her gaze lingered on the soldiers around her, heart heavy as she watched them sharpen their menace, preparing to strike fear into the villagers’ hearts.
“GO!” The commander’s voice cracked like a whip, and the soldiers surged forward. Balencia took her place at the head of her designated strip, eyes hardening as one of her comrades hurled an alarm into the square. The siren screamed, a metallic wail that sliced through the air, scattering the silence like broken glass. Doors flew open, faces pale with dread; they emerged one by one, blinking against the daylight, as if seeking hope in the cold faces of their tormentors.
The soldiers closed in, gripping wrists and shoulders with rough hands, dragging villagers forward, their pleas swallowed by fear. Balencia felt a surge of shame crawl beneath her armor. She was so close to the throne she had dreamed of, yet here she was, an iron hand crushing the very people she had once sworn to protect.
“ON YOUR KNEES!” she bellowed, her voice echoing off the stone walls, fierce and unyielding. “STAY DOWN, AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED.” Her tone was steel, but her heart whispered apologies with every word. She could feel the eyes of the soldiers on her, judging, scrutinising her every move, as though daring her to show any weakness, any crack in her carefully crafted armor.
With a clenched jaw, Balencia pushed into her first house, yanking open drawers with a violence she didn’t feel. Her hand closed around a large sack of rice behind the flour and dried goods. As she turned, she met the wide-eyed stare of a family—two parents and their five children, two of them still toddlers. The weight of their need struck her like a blow. Could she truly steal their only sustenance?
A four-year-old boy whimpered, his voice barely more than a trembling whisper. “Mama, when will Balencia come to save us?” he sobbed, clinging to his mother’s skirts.
She felt her stomach twist, a deep ache blooming in her chest. Her name, the name of a hero in their eyes, a whisper of salvation—and here she was, the one casting shadows across their lives.
Without a word, she pulled an emei piercer from her hair and drove it into the rice sack, letting the grains spill onto the floor in a quiet rebellion. The mother’s eyes softened as if she understood the silent mercy Balencia offered. When half the rice had poured out, Balencia hefted the bag and carried it outside, tossing it onto the growing pile of confiscated supplies.
Throughout the raid, she moved like a ghost, slipping out of the soldiers’ sight when she could, her hands emptying bags whenever possible, leaving families with just enough to survive.
At the raid’s end, Laham’s marshal stood before the gathered villagers, his voice cold as the steel at his side. “Laham’s law now commands alarms in every home. When they ring, you will bring your rice into the streets for collection. Disobedience will not be tolerated. Understood?”
The villagers nodded, their arms wrapped around each other like vines, seeking strength they couldn’t find alone. Among them, Balencia saw a little girl, eyes wide as she clutched her mother’s hand, and the memory struck her like a lightning bolt, a girl hiding behind her own mother, long ago, when Balencia had been just as frightened, clinging to an innocence that was now long buried.
This cycle, this endless loop of suffering—it had swallowed her, and now it demanded she be its instrument.
Balencia stormed into the king’s lair, her jaw set, a carriage of stolen rice trailing behind, hauled by the king’s men. The king lounged on his throne, a smirk curling his lips as his gaze settled on her, dark and triumphant. Satisfaction radiated from him—every ounce of stolen grain proof that his orders were heeded without question.
“I want all of you to leave... except for my jewel,” the king murmured, his voice a silken command. As the others shuffled out, Talbazar lingered, his stare simmering with envy as it rested on Balencia, the king’s prized favourite. He shoved past her with a scornful scoff. You’ll be the first to fall once I’m on that throne, Balencia promised silently, fighting to keep her expression cool.
When they were alone, Laham’s eyes lingered on her, hungry and calculating. He stepped close, his hand reaching up to brush through her long, dark curls, each twist cascading like a waterfall over her shoulders. “Such a rare beauty, my precious one,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down the length of her hair. “Obedient, loyal… utterly flawless.”
A cold dread tightened around her heart as he moved closer, his breath hot and stale, each word sliding from his mouth like poison. She felt trapped, as though chains unseen had wrapped around her wrists, binding her. His hand lifted her chin, forcing her gaze upward, and then, with a movement swift as a snake’s strike, his cracked lips pressed against hers. They were dry as desert sand, rough as stones, his breath reeking of rot. His scraggly beard scraped her skin, needles prickling her face as her stomach twisted in revulsion.
Balencia’s body rebelled, her soul rising like fire to burn away the disgust, the shame, the lingering feel of him. She shoved him back, fury flashing in her eyes. Without a word, she dropped her gaze to a patch of muddy footprints left by the soldiers, smearing the wet filth across her mouth in defiance, wiping away the taste of him.
“Oh, my jewel, let this be our little secret,” he chuckled, slumping back onto his throne, amused, unbothered.
“Touch me again, and I’ll make you choke on your own bile,” she spat, her voice cold as winter steel. Without another glance, she turned and strode from the room, her chest heaving with a quiet rage that burned hotter with every step.
Once back in her quarters, Balencia stumbled to her washbasin, clutching the kettle of scalding water, and splashed it over her mouth, scrubbing until her lips were raw, her tongue blistered. Mareeb stood nearby, watching in silence, his eyes dark with concern. He said nothing, sensing her torment, but the weight of his gaze pressed on her like a silent shield.
With trembling hands, Balencia ripped off her dress, letting it fall to the floor as she stepped into a blistering shower, the heat searing her skin but grounding her. She wrapped herself in a rough cloth, sinking onto her bed, her body as weary as her spirit. She closed her eyes, drifting into a restless sleep.
But her dreams offered no refuge. Shadows clung to her mind, dragging her back to childhood memories she had long buried: a small girl, crying in the dark, her body bruised and broken, haunted by looming figures with hollow eyes. The nightmares twisted and coiled, until a sharp, acrid smell filled her senses, breaking through the haze of sleep.
