The air was still trembling.

  It felt as if the vision hadn’t truly ended, as if the walls themselves were still bleeding memories.

  I could smell the scorched sand, hear voices that no longer existed, feel the invisible weight of the Thirteen pressing against my chest.

  No one spoke at first.

  The silence hurt.

  It was the kind of silence that steals your breath and leaves your heart searching for something it can’t name.

  Then I heard a sound that broke me—

  crying.

  —Caelia… —I whispered.

  I looked at her.

  Her hands trembled, her lips parted, but no words came out.

  She cried with an ancient grief, as if within her lived all the tears the Thirteen had never allowed themselves to shed.

  Her body folded forward.

  Velka tried to hold her, Neyra too. I moved without thinking, but nothing worked. It wasn’t human crying. It was a tide.

  And then Nerys stepped forward.

  Barefoot on the cold stone, she walked toward us. Her steps had no haste, yet each movement seemed to drag the air, to calm the trembling of the sanctuary.

  She knelt before Caelia.

  —Leave her to me —she said, not as a command, but as a whisper the soul obeyed before the body could.

  We stepped back.

  Caelia lifted her face, eyes drowned in tears, and saw her.

  Nerys reached out her hands—warm, real—and embraced her.

  It wasn’t a spectral gesture. It was full, human, trembling.

  And Caelia collapsed into her arms, sobbing with a broken throat.

  —Shhh… —Nerys whispered, rocking her gently—. Don’t be afraid to feel. Don’t fear breaking. Sadness doesn’t destroy—it cleanses. It makes space to breathe again.

  The crying began to fade.

  The trembling turned to breathing.

  And in the midst of silence, something changed.

  The blue light of the hall no longer felt heavy.

  It was soft, warm—as if the air itself wished to comfort her.

  I saw Nerys close her eyes, holding her tighter.

  I saw Caelia’s face buried against her chest, exhausted, surrendering.

  —The Thirteen cried too —Nerys murmured, barely audible—. But their tears became roots.

  From them, you were born.

  And that… that should never bring you shame.

  I couldn’t hold back my tears.

  I felt them slide down my neck, fall to the floor, and mix with the blue light.

  It was as if the sanctuary itself breathed with us.

  As if all the sadness in the world had finally been given permission to exist.

  Nerys was still holding Caelia when something in her expression shifted.

  It wasn’t fear.

  It wasn’t surprise.

  It was recognition.

  As if something ancient—something that should not be awakening yet—had brushed the edge of her awareness.

  I watched her straighten slowly, her hand trembling just slightly as she pulled away from Caelia. Her eyes, which only a moment ago were pure compassion, were now two clouded moons.

  —“Something… is approaching,” she whispered, staring into a darkness that had no door—“Something that does not belong to this land.”

  I felt the blood in my veins turn cold.

  I didn’t wait for instructions.

  —“We’re leaving,” I ordered, my voice steadier than I expected. “Now!”

  Velka blinked, still red from crying, but nodded. Neyra wiped her face with her sleeve as if waking up from a nightmare. Caelia was breathing unevenly, but she stood with her jaw tightly set.

  I turned to Nerys.

  —“I’ll come back. I promise.”

  Her eyes—deep and sorrowful—blinked once.

  A nod.

  Permission.

  Trust.

  We climbed the corridor, our footsteps sounding too loud in the silence of the sanctuary. The blue mist stirred around our ankles, as if trying to hold us back—or warn us.

  The air changed when we reached the final stretch.

  A pressure in my ears.

  A knot in my throat.

  When we reached the surface, the sanctuary doors opened on their own, as if the stone feared being left alone.

  Azhara was there.

  Beside her, Zayrah, Mahtani, and Irsah stood as a living wall—tense, ready for anything. Luma paced near the threshold like a caged beast.

  The Sultana’s eyes locked onto mine.

  —“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice calm, though something in her fingers trembled ever so slightly.

  —“Nerys… warned us,” I said, swallowing the tremor trying to break my voice. “She said something is coming. Something that doesn’t belong here.”

  I didn’t finish.

  Because the earth roared.

  An explosion burst in the distance, a column of sand rising like a golden mushroom on the horizon. The wind hit us a second later, hot and full of dust.

  Velka muttered a broken curse.

  Neyra stumbled back.

  Caelia pressed a hand to her chest, forcing her breath into order.

  The guardians stood completely still for a heartbeat.

  Then Zayrah turned to the Sultana.

  —“That impact… is not human.”

  —“Nor of our magic,” Mahtani added, already drawing her weapon.

  Azhara closed her fists. A cold light flickered across her eyes.

  —“Run,” she ordered, with a devastating authority that allowed no argument. “See what has struck my kingdom.”

  She didn’t have to repeat herself.

  Shadows and Guardians hurled ourselves into the desert.

  And as we ran, I felt something else:

  The echo of a distant voice.

  A thin thread of crying that wasn’t coming from Caelia.

  Nor from me.

  Nor from any living woman.

  Nerys.

  And whatever was approaching…

  was not coming alone.

  The palace vanished behind us like a shattered mirage.

  The moment we crossed the threshold, I saw people running through the streets of Sel?nrah.

  Mothers carrying their children.

  Soldiers pushing elders toward shelters.

  Merchants abandoning their stalls with coins still scattered in the sand.

  The black smoke rising in the distance dimmed the sky like a premature eclipse.

  And the air…

  The air tasted different.

  Like hot iron.

  Like twisted magic trying to breathe.

  Velka ran beside me, agitated, gripping her broken sword so hard her knuckles looked like bare bone.

  Neyra muttered routes under her breath, as if cataloging chaos could stop her shaking.

  Caelia kept her eyes fixed on the horizon as though she could see exactly where the world hurt.

  Zayrah lifted her arm, ordering us to speed up.

  Mahtani didn’t speak, but her breathing tightened like a bowstring ready to snap.

  And then I felt it.

  Like a heartbeat under my feet—but not mine.

  A deep, sick, ancient pulse…

  One that did not belong to Al-Rahad.

  The air grew heavier.

  The magic arched like a wounded animal.

  When we reached the first dunes, the sight hit us like a punch:

  Dozens of cultists surrounded the crater left by the explosion, delirious, screaming, tearing their skin while holding relics made of compacted sand and charred bone.

  —Finish them! —Mahtani roared without hesitation.

  Her voice lit the fuse.

  We leapt.

  Zayrah detonated a wave of sand that swept three fanatics away in an instant.

  Irsah slowed several more beneath a dense shroud of melancholy so thick they couldn’t even scream.

  Velka shot forward like a red flash, laughing with a brittle edge.

  Neyra spun her staff in impossible patterns, copying every movement she saw.

  Caelia blocked and broke through, a wall that did not budge.

  I… let the rage settle just under my ribs.

  I didn’t unleash it.

  I just used it.

  The fight lasted only a handful of breaths.

  One by one, the cultists fell with glassy eyes, as though waiting for something that still hadn’t come.

  Then everything fell silent.

  A real silence.

  A heavy silence.

  Cold crept up my spine before I heard her.

  —Oh… so these are the heirs of the stolen first tear.

  We all turned.

  And there she was.

  Standing at the edge of the crater as if the sand itself had lifted her to receive her.

  Her silhouette was a living shadow:

  Black hair down to her waist, woven with silver threads stained with ash and symbols that seemed to move on their own.

  A ceremonial black tunic covered in ancient script that writhed as if it breathed.

  A cloak of dark feathers that swayed even without wind.

  And her eyes…

  Gods.

  Her eyes were white, drained, as though emotion had been carved out of them completely.

  Blood dripped slowly from her palms onto the sand.

  Drop by drop.

  Like a macabre clock.

  She smiled.

  That gentle and terrifying smile preachers wear when they believe they’ve already won.

  —You’re so beautiful —she whispered—. So fragile. The ones who stole the first cry… and hid it in your veins as if it were yours.

  Velka stepped back, shaking.

  Neyra’s grip tightened around her staff, unable to meet those empty eyes.

  Caelia raised her shield before us, barely breathing.

  Zayrah spoke first, furious:

  —Yareen, stop in the name of the Sultana. You are violating sacred territory—

  —Territory… —Yareen repeated, tilting her head as if analyzing the word—. Can you cage an emotion inside territory? Do you really think this desert belongs to anyone other than the ones who bled for it first?

  Mahtani stepped forward, spear in hand.

  —I won’t give another warning.

  But Yareen only sighed.

  A sigh that made the magic twist around us, as if it feared her presence.

  —I was meant to be a Mother —she murmured, almost wounded—. It was mine. That place, that emotional crown… was mine.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  But you… you were born of a crooked lineage, stolen, chosen by the desert’s whim.

  Her fingers opened, letting blood drip onto the sand like a seal.

  —And today I come to claim what belongs to me.

  Her voice didn’t rise.

  But the air thundered.

  The dunes rippled.

  The crater exhaled.

  And the magic…

  the magic wept.

  Irsah moved in front of us, voice tight but disciplined.

  —Do not force us to fight. Your quarrel is not with Seravenn nor with Al-Rahad.

  Yareen tilted her head with unsettling grace.

  —Oh, sweet walking sadness… Your emotion sings loudly. But it sings wrongly.

  Zayrah lifted her spear, her stance carved in discipline.

  —Last warning. Surrender. Now.

  The fanatics screamed.

  The sand trembled like an ancient drum.

  And then Yareen raised a single hand.

  No light.

  No flare.

  No grand gesture.

  Just a pull — as if a massive emotion breathed through her.

  The entire dune collapsed.

  Sand burst in every direction like boiling water.

  It wasn’t a spell — it was raw emotion, unshaped and overflowing.

  Neyra was thrown aside, rolling through sand clouds.

  Velka tumbled too, trying to laugh but her eyes were full of panic.

  Caelia raised a reflective shield that shattered instantly.

  —IT’S VOLATILE! —Zayrah roared—. Stay mobile!

  Irsah dropped to her knees, sadness condensing in her palms as she tried to contain the distortion.

  —I can’t… redirect it… It has no shape…

  Yareen laughed.

  Soft. Sweet.

  Terrifying.

  —Emotion isn’t controlled.

  —It’s released.

  Her followers rose as if pulled upright by invisible threads, rushing at us with mindless fury.

  Zayrah repelled them with surgical precision.

  Irsah slowed them with waves of melancholy so dense they felt like emotional mud.

  Velka stumbled to my side, raising her broken sword.

  —Lyss… this isn’t magic. It’s a fracture.

  She was right.

  The emotion around Yareen didn’t flow — it churned, crashing against her skin like a storm trapped inside her.

  Mahtani stepped forward, voice honed like steel.

  —Yareen. I order you as guardian of this desert. Step back.

  Yareen turned her head toward Mahtani… as if only in that moment she realized she existed.

  She dipped her head barely an inch toward Mahtani.

  Mahtani moved and tried to attack as well but...

  A whisper.

  A pull.

  And then it happened.

  The impact made no sound.

  Only the scream.

  Mahtani doubled forward as though someone had ripped her soul straight from her torso.

  Her hands flew to her side, and when she pulled them back for just a second, thick drops of blood splattered onto the sand.

  —N-no… no… —she exhaled, voice breaking, trembling, her eyes huge with pure terror—. What…? I… my body… help…

  I had never heard her like that.

  Never seen her like that.

  Her legs buckled.

  She collapsed to her knees, breathing in jagged bursts, as if each inhale shredded her chest from the inside.

  Velka screamed her name and threw herself toward her, catching her before her body gave out completely.

  —Mahtani! Look at me, damn it, LOOK AT ME! —her voice cracked—. Don’t leave, do you hear me? DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE!

  Mahtani was crying.

  Crying from fear, from pain, from the raw horror of not wanting to die.

  Crying like someone who never expected death to arrive this fast.

  —It hurts… it hurts… —she sobbed—. Help me… please… don’t… don’t leave me alone…

  Zayrah dropped beside her, her knee slamming into the earth like iron.

  Her spear slipped from her fingers.

  —No… no… no… —she whispered, her voice shattered—something I never thought I would hear from her.

  Irsah pressed both hands to the wound, trying to seal it, her own eyes filling with silent tears.

  —Breathe… with me… breathe… please… —she murmured, almost praying.

  Neyra couldn’t even speak.

  She just gripped her staff so hard her knuckles went white.

  Yareen stepped back.

  Not frightened…

  but delighted—

  as if she had just discovered a new way to pray.

  —So this is how emotions sound… when they break… —she whispered, enthralled.

  Something detonated inside me.

  I didn’t think.

  I didn’t reason.

  I ran.

  Blood Crown burned in my hand, as if it had been waiting for me.

  One movement.

  One cut.

  One sharp scream.

  And Yareen’s arm fell to the sand.

  Yareen staggered as her own blood spilled across her face.

  She didn’t scream.

  She didn’t even seem to understand what had happened.

  She simply lifted the stump still dripping dark red…

  and smiled.

  Smiled like a child discovering a new way to break her toys.

  I wasn’t going to let her breathe another second.

  The fury roared inside me.

  Sangre de la Corona seared between my fingers.

  I took one step, two, ready to drive the blade through her from chest to spine.

  My vision narrowed.

  Only her.

  Only her throat.

  Only her end.

  But then Yareen, swaying, lifted the hand she still had.

  —Not… not today… —she whispered.

  Emotion exploded around her.

  A brutal wave.

  A lash of air and shapeless magic—wild, uncontrolled, directionless.

  It hit me head-on with the force of an unleashed storm.

  I felt it tear the breath out of me, felt my back slam into the sand, felt the sword almost slip from my fingers.

  Velka screamed my name.

  Neyra too.

  When I lifted my head, dizzy, I saw her.

  Yareen—bleeding, staggering, nearly collapsing—

  using magic like a wounded animal:

  instinctive, desperate, chaotic.

  The sand beneath her feet trembled, contorted, opened a small dark fissure… and swallowed her.

  She vanished.

  She didn’t escape.

  She didn’t flee with strategy.

  She calculated nothing.

  The magic yanked her out the way one rips a page from a book.

  A pure act of chaos.

  Only the dark stain where her arm had fallen remained.

  I sucked in a breath, trying to stand.

  My ribs burned.

  My head rang.

  And then I remembered why I had run at her:

  —Mahtani…

  I turned immediately.

  Velka held her as if afraid the wind itself might take her away.

  Mahtani’s face was pale, soaked in tears, her breathing ragged and broken.

  —I don’t… want to die… —she sobbed, voice in shards—. I don’t… please…

  Irsah pressed both hands over the wound, trying to staunch it as her own tears fell in silence.

  —Breathe… with me… breathe… please… —she whispered, almost praying.

  Zayrah—usually unshakeable—was trembling.

  —Mahtani… stay. Stay with us. Stay right here… —her voice shattered like glass.

  And something inside me split in two.

  The hatred.

  The helplessness.

  The real fear.

  And the absolute understanding:

  Yareen wasn’t strong.

  She wasn’t a strategist.

  She wasn’t a prophet.

  She was an emotional catastrophe with enough power to destroy anyone when her feelings snapped.

  And that made her dangerous in an entirely new way.

  Not because of ability.

  But because of utter, absolute instability.

  Velka was already kneeling over Mahtani when I reached her side, both hands trembling, her golden magic spilling over the wound as if she were trying to stitch the world back together with raw will alone.

  But the bleeding didn’t stop.

  —“Please… please…” Velka murmured, her voice breaking. “Close… close, damn it…!”

  Mahtani was breathing in ragged gasps.

  Every exhale was a sob.

  Every inhale a failed attempt at staying alive.

  —“N-no… no…” she choked, trembling, her eyes wide with sheer terror. “I don’t… want… to die…”

  I had never heard her speak like that.

  Had never seen her look like that.

  Irsah was beside her, tears sliding down her cheeks as she tried to stabilize the hemorrhage.

  —“Shh, Mahtani… look at me… don’t talk… just breathe with me… breathe…” she begged, though her voice was already broken.

  Velka’s jaw clenched in frustration.

  —“It’s not working! Lyss, it’s not working! I can’t close it, I can’t—!”

  I didn’t let her finish.

  I cupped her face in both hands and forced her to look at me.

  —“Velka,” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I expected. “Listen to me.

  —You already did something no one else could.

  —You kept her here.

  —Without you, she’d already be dead.”

  Her eyes shook.

  Tears slid down her cheeks as recognition struck her.

  She nodded. Once. Twice. Her shoulders sagged, but her strength returned to her hands.

  Zayrah, covered in blood, lifted her communicator with stiff fingers.

  —“Ahlia, do you hear me?! Ahlia!”

  —“I hear you,” the healer replied immediately. “I was already on my way, what’s happening?”

  —“HURRY!” Zayrah shouted, losing her composure. “We need you NOW! Mahtani won’t survive another minute! Do you hear me?! SHE IS NOT GOING TO SURVIVE!”

  Silence.

  A silence that lodged itself in my throat.

  Then I noticed it.

  Yareen’s severed arm lying on the sand.

  The blood pooling around it, dark and thick.

  And from the stump… a black, viscous liquid, steaming slightly, oozing like it was alive.

  I didn’t know what it was.

  But it chilled me.

  Ahlia arrived almost instantly, breathless, hair sticking to her forehead.

  The moment she saw the wound, she paled.

  —“No…” she whispered. “What… who…”

  —“Later,” Zayrah snapped. “Do something NOW!”

  Ahlia swallowed hard, and for the first time since I’d known her, I saw her hands tremble.

  —“This is going to hurt… a lot. I can’t just close a wound like this. I’ll have to… rebuild that whole part of her body.

  —If I don’t, she dies. But she’s going to scream. A lot.”

  Velka looked up, her face soaked in tears, but steady.

  —“Tell me what to do.”

  Ahlia inhaled deeply to give her orders.

  —“You hold her head. Don’t let her move it even a centimeter.

  —Irsah, Zayrah: her arms. I don’t care if she hits you, do not let go.

  —Lyss, Neyra: her legs. If she thrashes, she could break her spine.”

  We all moved without hesitation.

  Mahtani was crying.

  Crying like someone who didn’t want to die.

  Crying like someone who wanted to stay.

  —“I don’t… please… don’t leave me… alone…”

  Ahlia cupped her cheek gently.

  —“I’m going to save you, Mahtani,” she whispered, her voice a prayer. “I swear it.”

  She put something in her mouth.

  And when Ahlia ignited her magic…

  The entire desert seemed to hold its breath.

  I knew how much of a pain Ahlia’s healing was but needing to regenerate an entire body part was beyond me...

  The moment Ahlia started I saw it... the tissue began to regenerate, the lost bone too, even the part of the organs. It was painful to watch every single part of her body grow out of nowhere, and the worst part wasn’t the flesh knitting or the bones reforming — it was their reactions

  The sound was the worst part.

  Not the magic.

  Not the lingering echoes of the conflict out in the desert.

  It was Mahtani.

  The improvised bit between her teeth barely contained her screams, and what came out were strangled, wet, broken sounds—

  a mix of pain and pure terror.

  The kind of sound no human being should ever make.

  Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, arching, trying to pull away from the pain with spasms we had to hold down ourselves.

  Next to me, Velka held Mahtani’s head with both hands. Her expression was tight, jaw clenched hard, eyes wide but dry.

  Her breathing was fast, uneven—full of frustration.

  —Hold on, damn it, hold on! —she barked, not as a plea… but as a command issued at life itself—. Don’t you dare pass out now!

  It wasn’t tenderness.

  It was anger at the idea of losing someone.

  It was impotence wearing the mask of fury.

  But…

  Zayrah was on the verge of collapse.

  She gripped Mahtani’s arm so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

  Her whole body shook, as if every muffled scream slicing through Mahtani’s throat were cutting into her own skin.

  She cried without realizing it, tears falling as she muttered curses under her breath again and again.

  —No… no, no… you’re not leaving… you’re not leaving… stay with us… —her voice cracked over and over.

  Beside her, Irsah pressed down on the wound, helping to contain the blood.

  Her face twisted in a shape I had never seen—grief and anguish warping her usually serene features.

  Every time Mahtani jerked from the pain, Irsah closed her eyes as if the agony punched through her own ribs.

  —Breathe… breathe… please… please hold on… —she whispered, her voice trembling in every syllable.

  Neyra was at my side holding down Mahtani’s legs, teeth clenched, brow furrowed.

  Her obsession, for once, wasn’t calculation

  it was control, pure and terrified, desperate not to fail.

  And Ahlia…

  Gods.

  Ahlia was bent over Mahtani’s body, her face drenched in sweat, her hands shaking as her power worked.

  Her expression was fierce and broken all at once: guilt, strain, and fear knotted together.

  —Don’t move… don’t move, please… please, Mahtani… —she murmured, almost praying—. Almost there… almost…

  Magic sparked under her palms like a heart being rebuilt blow by blow.

  Mahtani tried to arch again, trying to flee her own suffering, body convulsing as if trying to crawl out of itself.

  The sound that tore out of her throat—muffled by the bite-block—made my stomach twist violently.

  Zayrah sobbed once, hard.

  Irsah bit her own lip so hard she bled.

  Ahlia pressed harder, trembling.

  And Velka—

  Velka growled, furious.

  —Damn it, Ahlia—faster! She’s going to break!

  Ahlia didn’t respond.

  She couldn’t.

  Her power kept working.

  I was shaking too.

  Not from the effort.

  From the horror.

  Seeing Mahtani like this…

  Seeing all of them like this…

  Watching the guardians—these unshakeable pillars of Al-Rahad—fall apart…

  It was worse than any battle.

  The sand beneath us seemed to quiver.

  Or maybe it was just us trembling.

  And then, for a single second—

  just one—

  Mahtani’s breathing cracked into a weak, stuttering whimper.

  And we all understood she was still here.

  But hanging by the thinnest thread imaginable.

  The silence fell all at once.

  Not because the pain had ended… but because Mahtani’s body simply couldn’t endure any more.

  The last spasm ran through her legs, and then she collapsed —not dead, not hollow— just… spent.

  Unconscious.

  Ahlia let out a strangled gasp, as if someone had ripped the air out of her chest.

  Her nose began to bleed in a thin line that slid down to her lip.

  —Ahlia… —I managed to say.

  She tried to smile, barely a ghost of it at the corner of her mouth.

  —It’s… done… —she whispered.

  And she crumpled.

  Her body slumped forward, and Zayrah barely caught her before she hit the sand.

  The world had stopped.

  Two unmoving bodies.

  Two guardians who had always seemed impossible to bring down.

  And yet there they were: breathing… but standing on the edge of the abyss.

  Zayrah pulled Ahlia against her chest.

  Her shoulders began to shake, and when she lifted her face… she was crying.

  Openly.

  Without shame.

  Without restraint.

  —She’s alive… —she breathed, as if she needed to hear herself say it to believe it—. She’s alive… both of them…

  Irsah sank down beside Mahtani, brushing a hand across her face with a tenderness I had never seen in her.

  —My sun… —she whispered, breaking—. Don’t you ever scare us like this again… please…

  Her tears fell uncontrolled, silent but so heavy that each one seemed to strike the sand like a seal of ancient sorrow.

  Velka stepped back, rubbing her arms hard, as if she needed to crush her own helplessness.

  Her face was rigid; she didn’t cry… but she trembled.

  And in her, that was worse than any sob.

  Neyra quietly holstered her staff, breathing deep, her eyes red but holding.

  Not because she didn’t want to cry…

  but because she refused to let herself.

  Caelia was the one who broke through the frozen moment.

  —I… —she swallowed, steady, though her voice still carried the echo of her earlier tears—. I’ll take them. Both of them. I won’t leave them alone.

  Zayrah nodded, unable to speak yet.

  She only handed Ahlia over with one last touch to her cheek, as if her hand didn’t want to let go.

  —Thank you… —she murmured.

  Caelia slid an arm under Ahlia, another under Mahtani, lifting them both as if they were her own sisters.

  It was astonishing how she could still be that strong after everything we had just seen…

  after everything we had felt.

  —Go —Zayrah told me, her voice still cracked—. Tell Azhara what happened. And… —she drew a long breath, hardening— be careful. We don’t know what else is moving out there.

  I nodded.

  But before I could take a step, a sound tore through the air.

  Zayrah’s communicator.

  She activated it almost immediately.

  —Zayrah here.

  Static… and then a tense voice.

  Luma.

  —Zayrah… do you copy?

  —I’m here. What happened?

  A short silence.

  Too short.

  Too heavy.

  —The prisoner from Eiswacht… —Luma’s voice cracked—.

  She’s gone.

  The air froze.

  Neyra lifted her head.

  Velka clenched her jaw.

  Irsah forgot to breathe for a second.

  I felt the sand under my feet stop feeling solid.

  —Released… or escaped? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

  —Released —Luma replied—.

  No trace left behind.

  None.

  We all looked at each other.

  Wounded.

  Shaking.

  Exhausted.

  And with the absolute certainty…

  that everything had just become worse.

  That was the end of our calm.

  That was the end of the chapter.

  Because what came after…

  would change Al-Rahad forever.