Golden Storms | #Wattys2020

6. D A W N

A/N: Thank you so much for all your support and for keeping up with this slow book :) Please share it if you know anyone who would be interested!

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Northern Mesopotamia.

I killed and killed today. I can no longer will myself to feel. I have lost all connection with my soul a long time ago, and I am no longer afraid of death.

I anticipate it.

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1 Moon Past 🌒

Amaan gazed outside the forgery absentmindedly. The call for Fajr prayer resounded around the small town, swelling as more voices joined. The sky was a canvas of ink fading in water, the stars twinkling their goodbyes. The barren lands beyond the last line of homes was quiet and ominous as ever, hiding the future in its dusty mist.

He had somehow been unable to leave this tiny, innocent, irrelevant town. It held nothing for him, yet he rejoiced in the comfort of being around people. Rejoiced in the distraction from his thoughts.

He was selfish, for he remained behind for one other reason. Ishtar, he had learnt her name was. He did not presume the feeling in his chest for her was love- for he could live without her, but he enjoyed the clash of humour and humility in their encounters. Almost every day fate bought them to stumble into each other, and each day Amaan prolonged his stay just a little longer.

He watched as slowly candles lit up the few homes that still had inhabitants and men began making their way to pray, some tugging along half-asleep children. Amaan almost smiled. He had been that child once, wishing nothing more than to go back to sleep. Now sleep evaded him entirely. His mind would not let him rest. The images that played before his very eyes even as he walked and talked only reminded him of his horrific ordeals.

The Last Man Standing. A title no one had survived to give him.

His chest tightened with pain as he remembered once again.

"What is all the commotion, Udad?" Amaan asked as he observed the scrolls before him, frowning at the imbalanced accounts. The growing noise was not helping him focus.

Udad, his loyal confidant, stepped outside of their tent to investigate. The air rippled with the sound of him drawing his sword as a precaution, a sound Amaan had grown accustomed to.

"Do you believe the Fire Worshippers have offered the right price for our goods?" Igedir asked, his hand resting unconsciously on the hilt of his dagger. One ebony finger swept across the scroll before Amaan, pointing at the figures, "I feel they are not reciprocating as they should be. There could double the amount of rice, and their is no shortage of horses for them to offer us mules"

Amaan ran a hand over his beard thoughtfully, "What you say is true Igedir..." he leaned forward, dipped his quil in ink and then scribbled a few adjustments, "perhaps we can demand instead-"

"Amaan! Igedir!" Udad burst inside, his sword drawn, his eyes wild, "the town is under attack! We need to leave - immediately!"

Amaan shot to his feet and armoured himself as quickly as he could with Udad and Igedir assisting him. He grabbed his shield and spear, heart thrumming against his chest strongly. They were not afraid of battle, but nor did they anticipate it. Behind him, Igedir set fire to the scrolls without a word. They could no longer trade here, their vital information had to be burnt.