Sahara

In The Ashes: Blooming Rose

Chryseis' Anger

The weight of the sword in my hand felt heavier than usual today. Every swing, every strike felt off, like I was moving through thickened air. The world had become heavier since Finrah left—since she disappeared into the desert on some mission she refused to fully explain. It had been five days, five long days without her. I hated how much I noticed her absence, how much it gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. There was no time for such distractions.

The training ground was deserted except for Fatima and Tatiana, both circling me like predators waiting for a sign of weakness. The heat pressed down from above, the desert's relentless sun baking the sand beneath our feet. My clothes clung to my skin, drenched in sweat, but I didn't care. If anything, I welcomed the burn. The burn kept my mind off everything else.

Fatima lunged first, her twin daggers flashing in the sun. She moved like a shadow, her feet barely touching the ground as she closed the distance between us. I raised the ylkwa in defense, bracing for the impact. The metal clashed, sending a jarring vibration up my arm.

I parried, but Fatima was already moving again, her blades dancing in swift, precise arcs. I could feel the force behind each strike, testing my defense, searching for an opening. She was relentless, as always.

But I wasn't the same girl I'd been weeks ago. Training had changed me, sharpened me. I had learned to move faster, to think ahead, to anticipate my opponent's next move. My body had grown stronger, my muscles leaner, and now I moved with the grace of someone who had survived something far worse than the rigors of training.

Tatiana, silent and deliberate, struck next from the other side. She swung a staff, heavier and more forceful, trying to trap me between her and Fatima. I saw the opening, sidestepping Tatiana's blow while angling my blade to meet Fatima's next strike. Metal clanged again, and I twisted, pushing Fatima's blade to the side, giving myself room to breathe.

My heart pounded in my chest, not from fear, but from the sheer force of concentration. This wasn't just about winning. It was survival, the way it had always been since that day.

The day they killed my father.

The heat in my chest flared, not from exertion but from the simmering rage that had taken root inside me. Hrothgarian soldiers, with their cold eyes and cruel laughter, had torn my life apart. They had taken everything—my family, my home, my peace. Every swing of the sword, every clash of metal was my silent vow. I would not be weak again. I would make them pay.

Tatiana's staff came for my side, but I was ready this time. I spun out of the way, letting the force of her blow carry her momentum forward before I slashed my ylkwa down across her back, just grazing her shoulder. A touch of victory. Another win. Again.

Tatiana stumbled slightly, regaining her footing. She glanced at me, a mixture of surprise and something like respect flashing across her features. Fatima, standing off to the side now, lowered her weapons, watching me carefully.

"You've learned much," Fatima remarked, her voice level. She always spoke like that, like she was weighing everything I said, every move I made. "Quicker than I expected."

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my chest still heaving with exertion. "I'm not here to waste time."

Fatima nodded slowly. "No, you're not." Her sharp eyes held mine, searching, as though she wanted to say more. But she didn't. Fatima rarely gave praise. What she did offer, though, was more valuable than empty words. She had been tasked by Finrah herself to keep me sharp, to watch over me while she was away. That alone was enough to fuel me, but the truth was, I didn't need someone watching over me. I needed to fight.