Zayrah and Mahtani walked ahead, trading silent hand signals. Even Irsah, who always seemed to float somewhere between peace and detachment, kept her eyes sharp on the dunes.
We stopped when a small group of hooded figures blocked the road ahead, standing perfectly still between the pale adobe walls.
No visible weapons. But their stillness was sharp enough to cut.
Zayrah stepped forward, her voice firm and clear.
—Identify yourselves. This passage belongs to the royal guard.
A young man—barely older than Velka—emerged from the center of the group. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, and his smile so thin it looked painful.
I studied him, trying to recall if I’d ever seen his face in any report. Nothing came.
He spoke with a calm that scraped the skin.
—Royal guard… watching over dead ruins. A fascinating sight.
His gaze slid over Zayrah and Mahtani, then turned toward us—slowly, deliberately—stripping us bare without a single gesture.
—So, these are the Sultan’s guests. The foreigners. —His tone tightened, venomous.— What did you come for? To show your strength? To play rulers over what you can’t understand?
Velka took a step forward, false smile and clenched fists.
—If you really want to know, darling, just ask nicely. Or better yet—get out of the way.
The hooded man tilted his head slightly, studying the bite in her tone.
His smile widened a fraction. Then he raised his hand. Just that.
The sand around him shivered.
Grains lifted into the air, floating in slow, deliberate swirls, compressing into thin black needles that hovered above his palm.
A faint metallic hum rolled through the air.
The needles spun once—then struck the nearest wall.
The adobe blackened from within, cracked, and collapsed in on itself with a dry, hollow sigh.
The dust that rose smelled wrong—not like stone, but like scorched flesh.
Zayrah stepped forward, her spear trembling in her grip. Mahtani lifted her arm, ready to summon her shield—
but the ground betrayed them.
A pulse of unseen force rippled through the sand, making the air itself fold.
I tried to breathe, but the mark beneath my skin burned, pulsing with something that wasn’t mine.
—No… —Irsah whispered, lips pale.— The earth still punishes what we woke.
Mahtani tried again, forcing her light to form. A halo flickered over her arm—then the sand under her feet turned to stone.
An unseen shockwave burst outward, throwing her to the ground.
Zayrah caught her before she hit.
The emissary hadn’t moved.
He merely inclined his head, voice calm and low, as if the desert itself were speaking through him.
—You see? This land does not obey outsiders.
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the insects dared not move.
Then the man spread his fingers. The black needles dissolved into ash and fell.
—You’ll have your answer soon enough. And you’ll learn that this land does not forgive trespassers. —His voice sharpened, cruel.— Nor visitors who think their war is worth more than its dust.
And when he spoke again, his tone deepened, twisting through the air like a wound:
—Yareen watches.
The sound itself carried weight.
It rippled down the street, vibrating through our bones.
Above us, a flock of birds froze midflight—and dropped, lifeless, to the sand below.
No blood. No wounds. Just hollow, empty bodies.
—May the sands receive you… as you deserve —he murmured, turning away.
The others followed, their whispers scraping against the wind, until they vanished between the arches.
A bitter silence lingered.
Velka broke it with a hollow laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.
—Charming people. Really makes me feel at home.
Neyra didn’t smile. Mahtani, pale but steady, turned toward us.
—Do not rise to their provocations. What matters now is that we stay alert. —Her eyes caught Velka’s, who immediately looked away.
Zayrah met my gaze for half a heartbeat.
—We move. Sel?nrah doesn’t need more shadows… not tonight.
We walked on.
The wind felt heavier, as if the sand itself were listening to each step.
Zayrah clicked her tongue softly, moving closer. She raised a hand—silent order to hold my breath.
—We leave now —she said, her voice like warm stone, unbroken.
I didn’t argue.
My fingers were still tense, itching to summon the rifle and empty every drop of corrosion I had into that emissary’s chest.
But I didn’t.
Velka muttered something under her breath; Neyra exhaled through clenched teeth.
And behind us, the road remained quiet.
Too quiet.
We climbed into the vehicle we’d left a few blocks away.
Zayrah took the wheel with that stone-solid calm of hers, as if the whole machine’s integrity depended on her hands alone. Mahtani settled in the passenger seat, giving Irsah a brief glance before she quietly sat beside her. I dropped between Velka and Neyra, while Caelia closed the door behind us—last to climb in, her movements hollow with fatigue.
The engine roared against the stillness of the desert.
No one spoke until the dunes began to retreat in the rearview mirror and the air turned from scorched silence to rhythmic vibration. Then Mahtani—still facing forward, eyes fixed on the horizon—spoke in that low, grave voice of hers.
—That was Ashad. An emissary of Yareen. Public face of the Order of Return. An ancient extremist branch. They believe Al-Rahad was profaned the moment we allowed foreigners to step on its soil—long before Seravenn ever came.
Velka let out a dry laugh, swallowed by the rattling of the road.
—I’ve got no patience for purity cults. They all smell the same.
Caelia didn’t look away from the windshield.
—Is Yareen dangerous?
Zayrah answered with her usual composure, though something burned under her tone.
—More than they appear. They won’t strike openly, not yet. But Ashad showing his face today means they’ve been watching for a while. And you are part of their heresy’s reason to move again.
Neyra muttered under her breath, her voice thin and raw:
—So they won’t let us work in peace.
—No —Mahtani said, meeting my eyes through the mirror—. They won’t. And understand this: if they approach again, I won’t allow passivity. There will be official channels—and justice. But not here. Not without proof.
Something crawled in my chest, coiling like smoke.
Part of me—the one Irhena taught me to leash—growled, eager for a fight.
The other part, the one that still heard Silas’s voice and the warmth of my sisters, begged that they never force my hand.
I pressed my palm against my abdomen, feeling the faint pulse beneath the scarred skin, the mark breathing like an animal trapped under glass. My jaw tightened. I closed my eyes and let the breath burn between my teeth.
Not yet, I told myself. Not today.
When I opened them, Mahtani had already returned to her professional calm.
Zayrah kept her gaze on the road ahead; only her grip on the wheel betrayed anything—one short, silent tremor, like a promise.
The vehicle pushed onward. The wind carried dust and the faint hum of something unseen.
Behind us, somewhere in the dunes, a trace remained.
Not just a name—
a mark.
The residence welcomed us like an oasis after the heat and the dust thick with magic.
Zayrah turned off the engine gently and looked back at me, her voice carrying that steady weight that always sounded like a promise.
—You’ve done more than we expected today. You’ve earned this rest… and you deserve it.
Her eyes moved from me to Caelia, Neyra, and Velka.
Beside her, Mahtani and Irsah both nodded — so different from one another, yet bound by that unshakable calm that still unsettled me.
Mahtani’s expression even softened — a rare gift coming from her.
—We’ll report to Her Highness. Eat, sleep well. Tomorrow will be another long day.
I opened the door before Velka could jump out of the back seat like it burned her.
She threw me a quick glance; her smile barely existed, a ghost of what it once was.
I noticed. We all did.
Inside, silence wrapped around us.
We left our boots by the entrance. The cool marble floor under my feet felt like a blessing after the hours of scorching dust. Neyra stretched, letting out a long sigh. Caelia freed her hair from its tie; the dark strands fell over her shoulders like a heavy curtain.
Velka, however, stopped by the table. Her fingers tapped against the polished wood, then froze mid-motion.
She inhaled, held it, and forced her voice into something brighter.
—Well… not so bad being chaos tourists, huh?
Neyra arched a brow.
—Chaos tourists who nearly lost an arm.
Her tone wasn’t sharp, and that alone made us laugh — weak, tired laughter, but real.
I laughed too. My muscles ached, even the ones I didn’t know I had, yet her joke held me upright.
I walked to the open window. Sel?nrah was still awake: hanging lanterns, distant laughter, the hum of a language I was only beginning to understand.
I leaned against the frame. Behind me, I felt Velka’s presence.
Her restless fingers brushed the curtain as if she could coax a secret from the fabric.
—Lyss… —she said softly, meant only for me.
I turned.
She had that small smile she wore when she wasn’t sure how to start telling the truth.
—What is it?
—Nothing. —Her smile deepened a fraction.— Just wondering if you’ll be as spectacular tomorrow as you were today.
Caelia’s voice cut in from the couch, heavy with exhaustion.
—Save your breath, Velka. You’ll need it when we wake up in the middle of another disaster.
Velka chuckled quietly. When she did, she looked away, though her fingers still trembled against the curtain.
I didn’t need to read her mind to understand.
It was there — in the tiny hesitation, in the way her eyes avoided mine when the night turned the glass into a mirror.
Neyra crossed her arms, speaking with that forced calm she wore like armor.
—I don’t understand this place. Its magic, its people… It feels like something’s watching even when we sleep.
—Are you scared, Neyra? —Velka teased, finding her usual tone again.
—No. —Neyra lifted her chin.— I just want to understand it. And protect it. Like you always say, Caelia.
Caelia cracked one eye open from the couch.
—Then sleep. Tomorrow we’ll understand more. Tomorrow… we’ll survive again.
I looked at them — my family, my sisters-in-arms.
I thought of Silas, of his letter. Of the scar burning faintly under my uniform.
Of Velka, so close beside me, yet perhaps already lost somewhere deeper within herself.
And I knew, as night fell over Sel?nrah,
that not even the longest rest would silence everything waiting to overflow.
After sometime...
I stretched beneath the shower, letting the water —finally warm— slide down my back and disappear between my tired feet.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Steam clung to the tiles, soft and golden; for a moment, everything was just sound and breath.
Then came the gentle knocks on the door.
—Lyss! —Velka’s voice reached me first, dragged out and theatrical.— I swear if you don’t come out in one minute, I’m showering with you! I can’t stand feeling sticky anymore, you hear me?!
Behind her, Neyra’s muffled laugh.
—Don’t make promises you won’t keep, Velka. —Her voice had that teasing edge she only used when she was in a good mood, though tonight it sounded a little forced.— Hurry up, Lyss. Caelia’s waiting too, and she’s not planning to sleep smelling like desert sweat.
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile.
The water washed away part of the day’s tension, but not the sand still stuck in my thoughts. The battle, the constructs, Ashad… and that creeping sense that for the first time in a long while, I knew nothing at all.
I shut off the water, inhaled deeply, and called out:
—Coming! Give me a second, drama queens!
I stepped out wrapped in a towel just in time to see Velka pretending to cover her eyes with an exaggerated huff.
Her hair was a tangled mess, and she was wearing only her sleep top and a pair of shorts so tiny I doubted they could cover a decent thought.
—Look who finally crawled out of the steam cave —she said, pointing at me as if accusing a crime.— Now pray there’s still hot water for me.
Neyra shook her head, and when our eyes met I saw that restless gleam again —she was replaying the battle, even under her usual mask of irony.
—Maybe the water will wash the sand out of your head —Caelia said, perched on the arm of the couch, legs crossed, towel in hand. Her voice, though tired, still carried the weight of command, even here in this borrowed corner of Al-Rahad.
I combed my hair quickly with my fingers. Velka stormed into the bathroom like a small hurricane and slammed the door in victory.
I sat beside Caelia and Neyra, the steam still clinging to my skin.
Outside, Sel?nrah’s night was alive: floating lanterns, the sweet scent of incense, and a faint hum of magic in every breath of air.
—Today… —I began, not sure how to finish.
Neyra finished it for me.
—Today we almost died to constructs that shouldn’t even exist. And tomorrow? Who knows. —She sighed.— We’re not in Seravenn anymore. Everything here feels different.
Caelia nodded, her dark eyes fixed on the terrace.
—And today we learned something new: we’re not invincible goddesses. We’re flesh, magic… and, for the first time, doubt.
I stayed quiet, swallowing the unease that tried to crawl back up.
Before I could reply, the shower turned on again, and Velka’s voice boomed from behind the door:
—Caelia! You’re next! And Neyra… if you want to join, I’m charging!
The door slam nearly drowned our laughter.
For a moment, that was all we were —four girls laughing in a corner of a world that didn’t belong to us, trying to understand a new country, a different war… and ourselves.
Tomorrow, we’d face it all again.
Laughter faded little by little, dissolving into the warm dusk of the room.
One by one, our voices gave in to exhaustion; the air filled with the soft rhythm of breathing, the faint creak of sheets, and that silence that only exists when war finally sleeps for a few hours.
I lay staring at the ceiling, counting my own heartbeat.
I don’t remember when my eyes closed—only the echo of water dripping in the bathroom
Then nothing.
Nothing… except sand.
Not darkness—sand.
An endless white expanse, glowing like the inside of a shell. The wind didn’t blow; it breathed. Everything did.
Each grain seemed to pulse to the rhythm of a hidden heart.
I took a step. No footprint followed. Another. The silence around me felt heavy, almost alive.
Then I saw her.
A figure lay in the center of that desert, veiled in pale light. The whole world seemed to lean toward her, as if the sand itself guarded her rest.
She didn’t seem alive—or dead. Just… asleep.
My body moved before thought could stop it. I walked closer. The air changed, carrying an ancient scent—salt, tears, and a perfume I couldn’t name.
—Do not be afraid…
The voice didn’t come from the air. It came from within—from that same place in my chest where Blood of the Crown burns.
—Who are you? I asked, though my voice sounded like it traveled through water.
Silence. Then movement.
A hand rose beneath the veil—translucent, luminous, made of something that remembered how to be flesh. It lifted slowly and pointed at me.
—Your fire sleeps, said the voice. As I do.
The ground trembled. The sand stirred, rising in spirals around the figure. The veil lifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a face—not whole, not human, but beautiful in an impossible way. Pure sadness given form.
—What are you? I whispered.
—A memory that still breathes.
The sand covered my feet, warm and alive.
Something deep inside me answered—a vibration I recognized without understanding.
—When I awaken, the voice murmured, distant and breaking, you will remember my name as well.
A sudden wind struck me, and everything turned white.
I woke with my heart in my throat.
The ceiling of the residence hung above me, still and familiar. The air smelled of dust, heat… and a faint salt perfume that didn’t belong to this place.
I sat up, breathing hard. Sweat ran down my back—but what froze me was something else:
in my right hand… lay grains of sand.
White sand.
I stared at them until the night breeze carried them away, and I swear I heard, far beyond the edge of sleep, a voice whisper:
“Do not mistake rest for forgetting, daughter of wrath.”
I stayed there for a long moment, eyes open in the dark.
The whisper still echoed in the back of my mind like a heartbeat I couldn’t silence.
My throat was dry. I needed air—water—something real.
I pushed the blanket aside and stood. The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, grounding and unreal at the same time.
The house was silent, only the faint hum of the desert wind slipping through the shutters.
In the kitchen, I poured water into a small glass and drank, though the taste felt strange—almost metallic.
When I turned toward the window, the night looked vast and still.
And then I saw it.
A flicker far out in the dunes—too far to belong to any patrol, too soft to be lightning.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat beneath the sand.
I pressed my palm against the glass.
The reflection of my face blurred, replaced by that distant shimmer, faint and impossibly alive.
For a second, I thought I heard the same voice from my dream, whispering through the wind, almost tender:
“I am not gone.”
The light faded. The desert swallowed it whole.
I stayed there a while longer, waiting—unsure whether I had truly seen it, or if the dream still clung to my eyes.
When I finally returned to bed, the scent of salt and dust still lingered in the air, and I knew sleep would not come easily again.
Dawn came faster than I expected.
I wasn’t sure if I had slept an hour or a minute—my body ached as if I’d spent the night fighting the air itself.
I washed my face, but the water still smelled faintly of salt. Maybe it was my imagination. Or maybe not.
Velka was the first to notice when I entered the common room.
—Hey, gorgeous, you look like you lost a fight with a mirage.
—Didn’t sleep much —I muttered, pouring myself some coffee.
Caelia looked up from the map she was studying.
—Nightmares?
—Not exactly —I said. There was no way to explain “a sleeping woman made of light who spoke from inside my chest.”
Before they could press further, a firm knock echoed at the door.
Zayrah—punctual as divine clockwork.
Behind her stood Mahtani and Irsah, pristine in the pale colors of the desert.
—Shadows of the Crown —Zayrah greeted us, her voice the perfect balance between a command and a blessing—. Today we patrol Sel?nrah.
Caelia straightened immediately. Neyra barely disguised a yawn.
—Patrol the capital? —she asked.
—Yes —Mahtani answered, her tone as sharp as carved glass—. After the incident with the Order, Her Highness wants visible presence. And you… are visible.
Velka clicked her tongue.
—Translation: we’re sightseeing with weapons.
Zayrah ignored her with the grace of someone who had mastered the art of selective hearing.
—Take only what you need. It’s not a parade, but it’s not a war either.
Irsah added softly:
—Today is for seeing, not provoking.
The city was already awake when we stepped outside.
The heat wasn’t unbearable yet, but the air carried that heavy promise that it soon would be.
We split between two light transports—sleek shells of polished metal engraved with the sigil of the moon and sand.
Zayrah drove ours in silence while the streets of Sel?nrah unfolded around us.
From ground level, the city felt alive.
The market tents flamed in amber hues; merchants’ voices blended with chants and the sweet bite of spices that made my eyes sting.
Children tossed floating lanterns into the air, and women traced symbols before opening their stalls, as if blessing the morning.
We passed along the crystal channels that cut through the city like veins of light.
They ran between streets with a soft, melodic murmur, so clear I could see the white stone beneath.
Zayrah explained that their purity came from ancient blessings—no machine could ever replicate them.
No one drank straight from the current.
Each person carried a small cup of glass or metal, filled it carefully, drank in silence, and poured the rest back into the water, as if returning their gratitude.
The gesture struck me as both simple and sacred.
In Seravenn, water was a resource; here, it was a pact.
Later we stopped before a temple draped in golden veils.
Mahtani stepped out first, scanning the area.
People lowered their heads as we passed—but not in deference to us.
It was something else. A reverence for what couldn’t be seen. For something older than their Sultan and her crown.
Velka noticed too.
—Why do I feel like everyone’s staring at what isn’t here?
Caelia, ever composed, replied without turning from the temple:
—Maybe because they worship what they still don’t understand.
Neyra frowned, pointing to a symbol etched into a wall: a white, inverted tear, half-erased by the sun.
She tried to ask Zayrah what it meant, but the guardian only said:
—An old mark. It has no name.
And she left it at that.
We kept moving, the heat bending the streets into mirages.
I walked at the rear, distracted, feeling the invisible weight of the desert’s gaze.
For a heartbeat, I swore I saw it again—a flicker of white fabric, a veil moving against the wind.
I blinked.
Nothing.
Only the whisper of water and the slow breathing of the city.
By midday, we sheltered beneath a stone arch.
The air smelled of dust and fresh bread.
Zayrah reviewed a holographic map; Mahtani kept watch.
Irsah, calm as always, approached me.
—Sel?nrah doesn’t sleep —she said softly, without looking at me—. It dreams.
—Dreams of what? —I asked.
She smiled, faintly.
—Of what it fears will wake.
I didn’t know what to say.
I just kept my eyes on the horizon, and for a moment, I could have sworn the desert was watching us.
Not as an enemy—just as something still deciding whether we were worthy of its memory.
The rest of the patrol was disturbingly calm.
Too calm for a city that never slept.
Zayrah stopped in one of the inner plazas, where the canals met at a fountain shaped like a fractured moon. The water shimmered as if holding fragments of stars, but something was wrong.
One of the marble tiles at the edge was cracked — a clean, deliberate break.
— There shouldn’t be any fractures here — Mahtani muttered, kneeling. Her tone had lost all patience. — This place is purified three times a day.
Irsah crouched beside her, fingertips brushing the marble.
— Residual magic — she whispered. — And it’s not local.
The pulse from that fracture echoed through my scar. Not pain — recognition.
Velka caught the shift in my eyes.
— It’s them again, isn’t it?
Caelia was already inspecting the edges, voice sharp and measured.
— Yes. The resonance matches Mareike… but there’s another layer — colder. Filtered. Ilse.
Zayrah raised a hand, and the sand obeyed her, swirling to cover the break. But instead of fading, it compacted into a pattern: a broken flower encircled by uneven rings.
— The Order of Return — she said bitterly. — And now, Eiswacht’s runaways as well.
Mahtani stood, her expression set like carved stone.
— We know Klara is in containment, but the other two escaped through the tunnels. If they’re here, it means they’ve chosen to stay.
Neyra folded her arms, voice low.
— Then they stayed to finish what they started.
— Or to make sure none of us leave this place alive — Velka muttered, her tone stripped of humor.
The silence that followed pressed against my chest.
Even sealed, the air around the crack still vibrated — as if what had opened it was still breathing beneath.
Blood of the Crown pulsed faintly inside me. Restless.
Not afraid. Just… aware.
— This isn’t a warning — Zayrah said finally. — It’s a challenge.
— Or a trail they want us to follow — Mahtani added. — Which makes it worse.
A gust swept across the plaza, carrying the smell of incense and metal.
The same scent from my dreams.
— We’re leaving — Zayrah ordered.
Velka let out a dry laugh.
— Perfect. Love it when haunted archaeology makes the itinerary.
Caelia shot her a look.
— Shut up and get in the car.
Velka obeyed — her smirk fading almost instantly.
As we walked back, I looked to the horizon.
For a heartbeat, I swore I saw a faint glow moving among the dunes.
Not fire.
A gaze.
The ruins of the refuge breathed humidity and silence.
The air there did not smell of incense or sand, but of old stone and rusted metal.
A thin underground river ran through cracks in the floor, reflecting the flicker of blue candles that hung from the ceiling like tired eyes.
Mareike walked behind Ilse, both wrapped in borrowed cloaks. Neither spoke. Their steps echoed over the rock in a dry, nervous rhythm.
They were Magical Girls. They had fought, bled, survived. But here, between these walls, they looked like simple visitors afraid to touch what they could not understand.
In the center of the hall, the Order of Return waited.
Kneeling silhouettes, faces covered, hands interlaced in wordless prayer.
And in front of them stood a figure stiller than stone itself — wrapped in a black veil, face hidden beneath a hood that devoured the light.
Yareen.
Her voice did not need to rise.
— You’re late.
Mareike took a step forward, trying to regain her dignity.
— The patrols in Sel?nrah are stricter than we expected. But we made it in.
The figure nodded slightly, and even that small gesture made the candles flicker.
— I am not interested in excuses — murmured Yareen. — Only in loyalty.
Ilse, ever impulsive, lifted her chin.
— You promised us help. You said you’d bring Klara back.
Yareen tilted her head, as if studying an insect.
— And do I not keep my promises?
The air tightened.
A sound — a breath, a whisper — was all it took for Ilse to realize her mistake.
The woman stepped forward.
Only once.
And yet that single step filled all the space between them.
Her hand emerged from the cloak, pale, human… until it touched Ilse’s skin.
She gripped her throat with deliberate slowness.
Black veins bloomed at once, crawling beneath the girl’s flesh like rotten roots.
Ilse gasped, trying to pull away, but no air reached her lungs. Her eyes clouded, her blood drained.
— Power is not demanded — Yareen murmured, calm as stone. — It is given.
She released her.
Ilse collapsed to her knees, coughing, her skin slick with sweat.
The veins receded slowly, as though they had never existed.
Mareike caught her, trembling.
— What… what are you? — she whispered without thinking.
Yareen turned her gaze toward her. Only a hint of her lips was visible between the shadows.
— A consequence.
She turned and walked toward the stairs that descended deeper into the refuge.
The candles went out one by one as she passed, leaving behind a darkness that seemed to breathe.
The murmur of the Order resumed, a low, monotonous chant.
Mareike closed her eyes, holding Ilse close.
The underground river flowed again, but it was no longer water that ran beneath.
It was something else.
Something that had begun to awaken.