WIDA

Chapter 10: Aftermath

The battlefield was eerily quiet in the aftermath of the Gadir chieftain's death. The clanging of steel, the cries of battle, the roars of the enemy—all had been replaced by a heavy silence that hung in the air like a shroud. Gadir warriors stood frozen, their weapons held loosely as they stared at the body of their fallen leader, shock and disbelief etched into their faces.

Wida could feel the weight of their stares, but she forced herself to stand tall. Her chest still heaved with exertion, and her hands trembled from the adrenaline of the fight. But she couldn't afford to show weakness now. Her victory over the chieftain was a symbol, and she needed to seize this moment if there was to be any hope of peace.

Obis stood by her side, bloodied but unbowed, his sword still in hand. He watched the Gadir warriors warily, ready for the slightest hint of retaliation. But for now, they seemed stunned into inaction, their eyes flicking between their fallen chieftain and Wida, as if trying to process what had just happened.

Wida took a deep breath, gathering her strength. Then, with a voice loud enough to carry across the battlefield, she called out to the Gadir warriors.

"Your chieftain is dead! This battle is over!"

Her voice rang out clear and commanding, carrying the authority of someone who had just defied the odds and emerged victorious. The Gadir warriors shifted uneasily, glancing at one another. Without their leader, they seemed uncertain, lost.

"You came here to take what is not yours," Wida continued, her tone firm but measured. "But this land is ours now. We fought for it, bled for it, and we will defend it to the last breath. You have no place here."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, one by one, the Gadir warriors began to lower their weapons. Some dropped their swords in the dirt, while others slung their shields across their backs, backing away from the front lines. The tension in the air slowly began to dissipate, replaced by an exhausted, cautious relief.

Wida exhaled, the tightness in her chest easing just slightly. The immediate threat was over. But as she looked around at the village, at the wounded and the fallen, she knew the cost had been high. Their victory had not come without sacrifice.

Obis sheathed his sword and turned to her, his expression somber. "We need to tend to the wounded. And figure out what to do with the Gadir."

Wida nodded. "We'll take care of the wounded first. The Gadir—" She paused, glancing at the retreating warriors. "—they've lost their leader. If we treat them with respect now, it might prevent further bloodshed."

Obis looked at her, surprise flickering across his face. "You want to let them go?"

"We have no need for more enemies," Wida said quietly. "And I don't want more deaths on my conscience."

He nodded slowly, understanding her reasoning even if he didn't fully agree. They both knew that mercy was a risk. The Gadir could regroup and come back with vengeance in their hearts. But if they could plant the seeds of peace now, there might be a chance for something different—a future that wasn't defined by constant warfare over land.

They began moving through the battlefield, helping the wounded and organizing the survivors. The villagers worked with grim determination; their faces drawn with exhaustion but also relief. They had survived. And though they had lost friends and family, they had won their right to live on this land. That victory, hard-won though it was, would echo through generations.

As Wida helped a wounded villager to his feet, she saw the elderly nomad woman from before standing at the edge of the forest, watching the scene with a distant, knowing look in her eyes. Wida caught her gaze, but before she could call out, the woman turned and vanished into the trees, as quietly as she had appeared.

Wida frowned, but there was no time to dwell on it. There was too much work to be done.

The next morning, Wida stood at the edge of the village, looking out at the expanse of land that stretched beyond the valley. The morning sun bathed the hills in golden light, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the day before. The Gadir warriors had left, their dead leader's body taken with them. Whether they would return remained uncertain, but for now, the village was safe.

Obis approached; his expression thoughtful. "I've spoken with the village council. They agree that we need to fortify our defenses in case the Gadir come back."

Wida nodded. "We'll need to build alliances as well. There are other tribes that might be willing to stand with us if we show them that we're strong enough to hold our own."

Obis raised an eyebrow. "Do you think they'll follow a female chieftain? Even after all this?"

Wida smiled faintly, her eyes gleaming with quiet determination. "They'll follow strength. And we've proven that we're strong. It doesn't matter who leads, as long as the leadership is earned."

Obis looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "You're right. The land will listen to you, Wida. The people will too."

Wida turned her gaze back to the horizon, the weight of her new role settling on her shoulders. She had been a runaway princess, escaping the confines of her birthright. Now, she was something more—something stronger. She was a chieftain, and she had earned that title not through inheritance, but through blood, sweat, and determination.

But there was still much to be done. The village needed rebuilding. The land needed to be worked. And the alliances she hoped to forge were far from guaranteed. There were still enemies lurking beyond the horizon, and the threat of war would never be far from their minds.

But Wida knew, deep in her bones, that this land was worth fighting for. This was her home now—hers and her people's. And no one would take it from them.

"We'll be ready," Wida said softly, more to herself than to Obis. "Whatever comes next, we'll be ready."

And as the sun climbed higher into the sky, casting long shadows over the valley, Wida felt a flicker of hope—hope that, despite the hardships and the bloodshed, they could build something lasting here. Something more than just a village.

A home. A future. A legacy.

And Wida, once a runaway princess, would be at the heart of it all.

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