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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A thin haze of white smoke drifted toward the ceiling as Balencia rushed down the hall, her violet dress whipping in her wake. She could smell it—the creeping burn, the hint of something sinister smoldering. Darker smoke billowed, filling the corridor with choking fumes as plastic, oil, varnish, and paint fed the fire’s monstrous hunger. Flames leapt up the walls and tore across the ceiling, each lick of fire groaning under its own weight. Ash and heat stung her tongue, while soldiers scattered around her, desperately trying to pry open windows and doors for escape.
Balencia skidded to a stop outside the source of the blaze—the king’s chambers. Her brow furrowed as she took in the chaos. “Someone set fire to his room?” she muttered, piecing together the scene. From within, the king’s voice echoed, frail and plaintive.
“Oh, my daughter! Come—I am hurt!” Laham’s words slithered through the smoke, as though his feeble cries could command her loyalty.
But Balencia’s attention snapped to a shadow amidst the flames—a figure emerging from the blaze, standing bold yet concealed. This was no ordinary soldier; every movement spoke of intent. Ignoring the king’s plea, she surged toward the figure, only to catch a mere glimpse as it darted toward an open window. The figure’s frame was powerful, built like a fortress, yet he moved with a smoothness that belied his strength. He hesitated for a heartbeat, turning almost as if to look back at her. Recognition flickered, but before she could place it, he was gone—a blur in the dark.
“Who…who was that?” she muttered, frozen in her confusion. The king’s feeble cries jolted her back. Someone wanted to shake the king, she thought, feeling the pulse of something more in the stranger’s actions. But why not kill him outright? Was he…waiting for me?
“Why?” she whispered, unbothered by the smoke clawing at her lungs, her mind lost in the strangeness of it all.
Back in her room, she found Mareeb already there, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. “Perhaps it was a civilian, Omid?” he suggested, though his tone held uncertainty. Balencia shook her head.
“No, Mareeb… He wasn’t from here. And yet…it was as if I knew him.” She sank onto her bed, the flickering memory dancing just beyond her grasp. “Why scare the king and then vanish? Could he know of my plans?”
“I don’t know, Omid…” Mareeb’s words faded as Malaa burst in, her expression unusually frantic, her eyes filled with urgency.
“Malaa, what’s wrong?” Balencia asked, moving to her side, alarmed by her fear.
“One of our warriors…something’s terribly wrong. I need your help!” Malaa’s voice quivered. Without a second thought, Balencia followed her into the village, her heartbeat quickening.
They entered one of the village huts, and Balencia froze at the sight before her. A warrior lay on the floor, her legs streaked with blood, her body writhing in agony.
