I could still feel the echo of the vision vibrating in my hands.

  As if Ariane’s light had lodged itself inside my bones and refused to let go.

  Velka was the first to break the heavy silence of the sanctuary.

  —We need to tell Caelia —she said, brows drawn tight—.

  She has to be ready when we face Yareen.

  Neyra folded her arms, steady and sharp.

  —Caelia needs to know everything. The sphere. What we saw. How to destroy it.

  I nodded.

  My throat burned, but the decision was already made.

  —We go to her. Now.

  We took one step toward the exit—

  and Nerys’s voice stopped us.

  —Wait.

  We turned around.

  Her expression had changed.

  Not fear.

  Not doubt.

  Something older.

  Something aching.

  —Before you go to Caelia… —she said softly— there’s something I want to tell you.

  Velka tilted her head, wary.

  —What thing?

  Nerys walked toward us with a measured slowness, like someone looking at a memory that had suddenly returned to life.

  —When you stood before the truth of the second heart…

  when you accepted what it means…

  you reminded me of my companions.

  My chest tightened.

  Neyra stopped breathing for a moment.

  —The Mothers —Nerys added, her voice laden with centuries.

  The air in the sanctuary grew heavier.

  More intimate.

  Nerys looked first at Velka.

  —Velka… your fire reminds me of Rhiannon, the Mother of Faith.

  She was pure conviction.

  Unstoppable.

  She leapt first and thought later—if she thought at all.

  She could ignite the world just by breathing.

  Velka looked away, uncomfortable, as if the name burned a little.

  Then Nerys turned to Neyra.

  —And you, Neyra… you carry the dangerous quiet of Saphine, the Mother of Remorse.

  Silent.

  Precise.

  She observed more than she ever let on.

  She saw patterns the rest of us couldn’t understand until it was too late.

  Neyra didn’t move, but something in her eyes shifted.

  Finally, Nerys lowered her voice.

  —And Caelia…

  she carries the heart of Mireya, the Mother of Compassion.

  She cried first, yes…

  but she was always the first to stand again.

  The one who never let any of us fall alone.

  A tremor ran down my back.

  Yes.

  That was Caelia.

  Nerys smiled—broken, tender.

  —When I see you together…

  I see echoes of them.

  Of my sisters.

  Velka muttered:

  —We’re not them.

  —I know —Nerys replied gently—.

  But you carry their shadows… and their light.

  And that is far more powerful than you realize.

  I drew a long breath, feeling the sanctuary air shift, older and deeper somehow.

  —Let’s go —I said at last—.

  Caelia needs to know.

  And we have to move before Yareen makes her next move.

  The terrible thing was… we didn’t know—none of us knew—

  that Yareen already had.

  In that very moment, far from the sanctuary,

  the sand was beginning to stir over the safehouse where Ahlia and Mahtani slept.

  And unaware of it, we walked toward the exit.

  Believing we still had time.

  We stepped out of the sanctuary as Nerys’s warm light faded behind us.

  We had learned too much in too little time… but at least now we had a direction.

  Velka let out a huff as we walked.

  —Let me get this straight —she said, staring at Neyra—.

  Nerys said you resemble Saphine?

  Saphine, Mother of Remorse?

  Neyra tilted her head with absolute neutrality.

  —That’s what she said.

  Velka threw her hands up.

  —But you don’t feel remorse even when you kick down the wrong door during an op.

  I couldn’t help laughing.

  Neyra rolled her eyes, but with that dignified annoyance she used when she refused to validate Velka’s jokes.

  —Remorse isn’t required for analysis —she said—.

  And if Nerys compared me to her, she must have her reasons.

  —Right —Velka muttered—.

  And I’m apparently a walking wildfire.

  Wonderful.

  We kept walking, letting that soft banter melt some of the tension the sanctuary had carved into our bones.

  I activated the communicator.

  —Caelia, do you hear me?

  Her voice came through quickly, along with the background noise of an improvised resting room.

  —Yes, I’m here.

  Velka spoke bluntly:

  —Is Azhara with you?

  —Yes —Caelia said—.

  She’s watching over Mahtani and Ahlia.

  She said she’d stay until they could breathe without pain.

  We all nodded.

  Azhara had told us earlier that she would go see them:

  It made sense.

  Her guardians were her family.

  —Good —I said—.

  We need to find you all as fast as possible.

  Where exactly are you?

  —In the provisional safehouse near the southern edge of Selunrah —Caelia replied—.

  But so you don’t get lost… I’ll activate an emotional tracker.

  A soft pulse resonated through the communicator.

  Neyra caught it instantly.

  —Got it —she said—.

  This will lead us right to you.

  Caelia exhaled, relieved.

  —Good.

  Ahlia hasn’t woken up yet, but her breathing is steadier.

  Mahtani is still unconscious… but she’s not losing warmth anymore.

  Velka nodded firmly, even if Caelia couldn’t see her.

  —Perfect. We’ll be there in a few minutes.

  We have important information.

  —Serious? —Caelia asked.

  I exchanged a glance with Velka and Neyra.

  —I’ll explain when we arrive —I said—.

  It’s too much to tell over comms.

  —Understood.

  I’ll be waiting.

  I ended the transmission.

  Velka tightened her glove.

  —Alright.

  We reach the safehouse, talk to Caelia and Azhara… and then we go after Yareen.

  Fast. Clean. No hesitation.

  Neyra nodded.

  —That’s the best approach.

  I breathed deeply.

  —Let’s go —I said.

  The three of us moved forward then

  The safehouse was built from thick fabric walls and hastily assembled stone, just enough to keep out the desert wind—but not the quiet, constant murmur of worry that filled the air.

  The moment we stepped inside, we saw it.

  Azhara sat between the two cots, without her veil, without her jewelry, without the posture of a sultana.

  She was simply a woman watching over her girls.

  Ahlia breathed unevenly.

  Mahtani remained still, wrapped in warm blankets.

  Zayrah sat nearby, eyes red but alert;

  Irsah held Ahlia’s hand as if she feared the girl might disappear if she let go.

  Velka froze beside me.

  I did too.

  Neyra inclined her head slightly, respectful.

  Azhara looked up when she sensed us.

  She didn’t speak at first.

  She just watched, exhaustion carved so deeply into her features it almost hurt to see.

  Then she smiled.

  A small smile.

  Tired.

  Pained.

  And maternal.

  —Thank you for coming —she said softly.

  Velka stepped forward first—of course she did; that was who she was when she cared.

  —How are they? —she asked, eyes locked on the two injured girls.

  Azhara brushed her fingers across Mahtani’s forehead, slow and trembling.

  —Alive —she whispered—. And that is enough… for now.

  Zayrah quickly wiped her cheeks when she realized I was looking at her.

  —Ahlia still hasn’t woken up —she said—.

  But she isn’t getting worse.

  Irsah nodded without looking up.

  —She’s fighting. I can feel it.

  Azhara breathed deeply and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—

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  a gesture she only made when she allowed herself to be vulnerable.

  —Shadira and Nazeera are already returning —she said—.

  They left their patrol the moment they heard what happened.

  Luma is on her way as well.

  I called all of them back.

  Velka blinked.

  —You called your whole squad?

  Azhara nodded, solemn.

  —They’re my girls —she said—.

  And they were in danger.

  I won’t lose them.

  A tightness pulled at my chest.

  I had never heard Azhara speak like this.

  No titles.

  No distance.

  Just her heart.

  Neyra, who rarely showed emotion, inclined her head toward Azhara.

  —You did the right thing.

  Azhara’s lips curved faintly.

  —I’m trying.

  I stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  —Azhara… we need to speak with you and Caelia.

  There’s important information.

  Caelia appeared behind us, having clearly heard the last part.

  —I’m here —she said, calm in voice if not in eyes.

  Azhara looked at each of us in turn.

  —You may speak freely —she said—.

  Nothing you tell me can shake me more than what has already happened today.

  I opened my mouth to begin explaining—

  And something shifted outside.

  No sound.

  No warning.

  Just the faintest change in the wind.

  But none of us noticed it.

  Not Azhara.

  Not Zayrah.

  Not Irsah.

  Not Caelia.

  Not even us.

  I was about to start but...

  The silence changed.

  Just a breath—barely a sound—but enough for all four of us inside the safehouse to lift our heads at the same time.

  Ahlia moved.

  Not much.

  A faint tremor in her fingers, a slow flutter of lashes.

  Her eyelids shimmered with dried tears before they finally opened.

  —…Ah…? —her voice came out hoarse, strangled.

  Zayrah reacted first.

  —Ahlia! —the cry broke in her throat, but reached her all the same.

  Azhara leaned over the cot before anyone else could move.

  Her hands trembled.

  Her eyes did too.

  —My girl… —she whispered—. You’re here. You’re with me.

  Ahlia blinked several times, as if the light around her hurt.

  —Su… Sultana…?

  What… happened?

  Irsah let out a soft sob.

  Not of grief—of sheer, overwhelming relief.

  —You collapsed —she said, trying to keep her voice steady—.

  You scared me more than I’ll ever admit.

  Ahlia tried to sit up, but Azhara stopped her gently, a hand over her shoulder.

  —Don’t rush —she said—. You’re safe.

  Ahlia wet her lips.

  —And… Mahtani…?

  Velka stepped forward with a small, genuine smile.

  —She’ll be fine.

  Because of you.

  Ahlia blinked again, confusion flickering through her eyes.

  —I… what did I do?

  Zayrah swallowed hard and took her hand.

  —You saved us.

  All of us.

  Ahlia frowned, that soft, gentle expression she always made when she didn’t quite understand.

  —I don’t… remember. Everything went white and then… nothing.

  Azhara stroked her hair, tender as if Ahlia were still a child.

  —It doesn’t matter.

  What matters is that you’re alive.

  Ahlia lowered her gaze, breathing deeply, as if trying to feel her own body for the first time since the attack.

  —I hurt… everywhere —she whispered.

  —That means you’re still here —Azhara said with a tired, tender smile—.

  Pain is a promise, Ahlia.

  It promises you didn’t leave us.

  Ahlia let out a small, broken laugh.

  —What… an ugly promise…

  Zayrah laughed through her tears.

  So did Irsah.

  I watched Ahlia.

  Breathing.

  Alive.

  For a moment, we believed the calm had returned.

  That we’d earned a brief reprieve.

  That the dim shelter light would protect us a little longer.

  But outside…

  the wind was already changing.

  As if something had found the scent it was searching for.

  The wind changed.

  But this time, it wasn’t a whisper.

  It was a blow.

  The fabric walls of the safehouse snapped as if something had slammed into them from the outside.

  The lamps rattled.

  The air thickened—heavy, dense, almost solid.

  And then a voice tore the silence apart:

  —WHERE IS THE BITCH?

  We all turned at once.

  Yareen stood in the entrance of the shelter.

  Half her face streaked with sand.

  Her severed arm still bleeding dark light.

  Her eyes completely white.

  She was breathing fast, held together only by rage.

  Ahlia gasped weakly.

  Azhara immediately leaned protectively over her.

  Zayrah reacted faster than anyone.

  —Sultan, behind me! —she shouted, stepping in front of Azhara.

  Irsah moved too, planting her feet as if she could stop a hurricane with her bare hands.

  Velka didn’t even hesitate.

  —You fucking monster! —she roared, charging forward.

  Neyra moved at the same time—cold, precise, merciless.

  But Yareen didn’t defend herself like a person.

  She lifted her remaining arm, and a burst of raw emotion—rage, pain, despair, and something even worse—shook the air like a shockwave.

  Velka was thrown against the wall.

  Neyra fell to her knees, stunned.

  I clenched my teeth.

  The impact hit my chest like a hammer, but it didn’t knock me down.

  Yareen took a single step forward.

  Just one.

  Enough to make the entire safehouse shrink around her presence.

  —The healer… —she spat, her voice fractured—

  The whore who ruined my work.

  Where is she?

  Ahlia trembled on the cot.

  Azhara covered her with her own body, without hesitation.

  —You will not touch her —the sultana said, her voice unshaken.

  Yareen smiled.

  A twisted, sick smile.

  —Ah… yes… the desert queen.

  You couldn’t protect them before.

  Do you think you’ll manage it now?

  Zayrah yelled:

  —Shut up!

  And she lunged.

  Yareen didn’t even look at her.

  Her magic flared like a collapsing heartbeat, and Zayrah was sent rolling across the floor.

  Caelia pulled back, distancing herself, evaluating.

  Calculating.

  —Lyss —she said—.

  Block the exit.

  She can’t escape again.

  My blood lit up at the command.

  My anger stirred before my mind did.

  —I know.

  Yareen turned her head toward me.

  Her smile widened.

  As if she had been waiting for this.

  —You again…

  The emotion pouring from her was like a boiling sea—

  chaotic, unstable, deadly.

  One second of silence.

  And then—

  the fight exploded.

  The refuge was not built to contain a battle.

  The walls shuddered with every emotional burst from Yareen.

  The air grew thicker and thicker, as if someone were filling the room with invisible sand.

  Velka staggered to her feet, furious.

  —Come here, you piece of shit!

  But before she could reach Yareen, another wave of magic slammed her into a pillar.

  Neyra tried to flank her from the left, but Yareen spun—clumsily, almost accidentally—and her magic spilled outward like boiling water.

  Neyra had to shield her face with her arm as the air crackled with unhinged emotion.

  Zayrah moved in front of Azhara again, blood at her lip.

  —Sultan, don’t let her get close.

  Irsah crouched on one knee, dizzy but still alert.

  Caelia sent a burst of emotional energy toward Yareen’s legs to pin her down, but the blast scattered as if Yareen’s body were made of solid smoke.

  —It’s not working —Caelia gasped.

  Yareen laughed—broken, jagged.

  —You can’t stop me…

  Not you…

  Not you children…

  She turned toward me.

  My knuckles tightened.

  Anger surged up my spine like an old heartbeat answering a call.

  Yareen tilted her head.

  She smelled me.

  Literally inhaled my presence like a beast trying to decipher prey.

  —Ah… you…

  So that’s why you haunt me…

  She stepped toward me, smiling crookedly.

  —You carry the mark…

  You carry the blood…

  My stomach clenched.

  —What are you talking about?

  Her white eyes shimmered with fever.

  —You’re one of them…

  One of the Mothers’ daughters…

  The air strained around us.

  Velka swore under her breath.

  Neyra took a single step back, processing.

  Yareen raised her remaining hand toward me, almost in awe.

  —And you smell like…

  Ah… yes…

  Like sadness.

  I froze.

  —You smell like Nerys.

  Something inside me flared—

  as if my body recognized a name that had always lived in my blood.

  I had no time to react.

  Ahlia rose from the cot.

  Unsteady.

  Deathly pale.

  But her eyes were clear.

  —Azhara… —she whispered—. Move…

  She lifted her hand.

  Her magic—her small flame of hope—sparked weakly but alive.

  —Don’t… touch… anyone…

  Yareen saw her.

  And her whole face changed.

  No more amusement.

  No more fascination.

  Only hatred.

  —Ah…

  The whore.

  She lunged.

  Velka screamed.

  Neyra too.

  I ran, but the air thickened into stone.

  Yareen erupted into a vortex of corrupted emotion.

  Every blow was a collapse.

  Every movement, an earthquake.

  The refuge began to break.

  Wood splintering.

  Fabric tearing.

  Sand rushing in through the cracks.

  Ahlia—still somehow standing—raised her trembling hand, magic flickering at her fingertips.

  Yareen descended on her, laughing like someone on the edge of total collapse.

  And that was when the chaos truly broke.

  It all happened too fast.

  So fast that my mind understood it far later than my body reacted.

  Velka screamed.

  Neyra too.

  Caelia was already charging a spell.

  But Yareen…

  Yareen moved her remaining arm with a gesture so simple, so twisted, so inevitable

  that none of us had time.

  An emotional pulse detonated inside the shelter.

  Not an attack.

  A command.

  “Back.”

  And our bodies obeyed.

  Velka was thrown against the wall.

  Caelia collapsed to her knees.

  Neyra gasped, strangled.

  Zayrah couldn’t take a single step forward.

  Even Azhara couldn’t reach Ahlia in time—the air itself pushed her back,

  as if the entire desert rejected her.

  Yareen was already on top of Ahlia.

  Ahlia managed a single “no” that never finished.

  And then—

  Yareen’s hand closed over her chest.

  It didn’t pierce.

  It didn’t tear.

  But something inside Ahlia did break.

  The sound was…

  Not bone.

  Not flesh.

  Something deeper.

  Something that should not have a sound at all.

  Ahlia arched violently, as if someone were trying to pull her out of her own body from the inside out.

  Her back slammed against the cot.

  Her hands spasmed.

  A thin line of blood slid from her nose.

  Then her mouth.

  And then red tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Yareen twisted her wrist.

  A small twist.

  But that was what killed her.

  Ahlia screamed—

  not with her voice,

  but with her entire body.

  Her chest sank inward and then lifted, taut, as if something inside were desperately trying to break free.

  Her skin lit in red-gold.

  And then—

  the second heart passed through her sternum without breaking skin,

  like solid light forcing its way out of a body too fragile to hold it.

  The sphere sat in Yareen’s hand, trembling like a trapped animal.

  Yareen smiled.

  Fascinated.

  Deranged.

  She released her grip.

  Ahlia fell hard onto the cot.

  Her eyes remained open.

  Her chest kept twitching.

  Her fingers still moved, by reflex, by memory…

  as if the body were trying to understand what had happened.

  But there was no life.

  Only an empty shell trying to remember how to breathe.

  Silence swallowed the room.

  It had all lasted two seconds.

  Two.

  But it felt like an eternity that crushed every one of us.

  I couldn’t move.

  None of us could.

  It was too late.

  And Yareen…

  Yareen was still there, panting like a feral animal,

  the sphere pulsing in her hand like a stolen heart.

  No one breathed.

  Ahlia’s body was still trembling even though she was no longer alive.

  That last, cruel reflex —that impossible movement— pinned all of us in place.

  Velka’s eyes were wide, caught between the urge to charge forward or step back.

  Neyra clenched her jaw, rigid, every muscle sharp with alertness.

  Caelia’s breath came unevenly, her fingers shaking not from fear, but from the sheer brutality of what we had just witnessed.

  I felt a hard, hollow impact in my chest —a mix of rage and shock that left me frozen.

  But the guardians…

  They shattered.

  Zayrah collapsed over the cot, sobbing in a voice that broke in the center.

  Irsah covered her mouth, shaking her head, trembling as if her body couldn’t contain what she felt.

  Yareen lifted the glowing sphere with her remaining hand.

  —One less…

  And then Azhara moved.

  Not like a leader.

  Not like a sultana.

  Not like a warrior.

  She moved like a woman who had just had something essential ripped from her.

  She touched Ahlia’s cold cheek.

  Her breath faltered instantly.

  Her shoulders trembled, as if her body could no longer contain the emotion swelling inside.

  Velka swallowed sharply, uneasy at the shift in the air.

  Neyra —for the first time in years— looked away.

  And then I felt it.

  A vibration.

  A deep pull.

  An emotional heartbeat that didn’t belong to any of us.

  Something ancient—buried far too long—opening all at once.

  The refuge seemed to lean toward Azhara.

  Even the light bent around her.

  —Sultana… —Caelia whispered, tense.

  Azhara didn’t respond.

  Her body trembled.

  A streak of dark light crawled up her neck, like an emotional fissure rising from her chest.

  Her voice came out broken:

  —No…

  my daughters…

  no…

  She didn’t scream.

  But the floor shook beneath us.

  Yareen stepped back.

  For the first time.

  —What… are you? —she asked, her voice thinning with fear.

  Azhara lifted her head.

  Her eyes were no longer the sultana’s.

  They were the eyes of someone whose desperation had taken form —

  a massive, ancient emotion, shaped by loss and by love she could not protect.

  Desperation awakened in her like a dark sun.

  What burst from her chest was not light, nor sound:

  It was a raw emotional pulse, so intense it ripped the air from my lungs.

  A silent wave.

  Irresistible.

  Yareen screamed.

  Not from pain.

  From fear.

  From recognition.

  The blast hurled her out of the refuge as if some invisible titan had swept her aside.

  The sphere dropped.

  Rolled.

  Dimmed.

  Ahlia did not return.

  Azhara collapsed to her knees beside her, too drained to even lift her head.

  Zayrah threw herself over them, sobbing until her voice failed.

  Irsah fell beside her, shaking uncontrollably.

  And we…

  We could only watch.

  Not because of distance.

  Not because of fear.

  Because we had witnessed something that should not have awakened.

  Something that marked a before and after.

  Dust was still drifting from the beams when we heard hurried footsteps outside.

  Three figures entered almost at once:

  A tall woman with olive skin and an impossibly long white braid that swung with each breath.

  Another shorter one, pale as marble, with a straight white streak falling over her dark hair.

  And behind them, Luma—wide-eyed, breath caught in her throat.

  I didn’t know who was who.

  None of us did.

  But the moment they crossed the threshold, all three froze.

  Azhara was kneeling.

  Completely still.

  Holding Ahlia’s lifeless body as if loosening her grip would make her disappear.

  Zayrah leaned over them, crying without sound.

  Irsah trembled nearby, hands covering her mouth.

  The woman with the braid took one step, then another—

  and collapsed to her knees as if her legs had simply given out.

  —No… —she whispered, barely a breath.

  The pale one stopped a few paces behind her, rigid, as though an invisible command had halted her mid-stride.

  Her hands trembled.

  Her eyes moved from Ahlia’s body to Azhara, unable to understand what she was seeing.

  Luma covered her face with both hands.

  —No… no, please…

  Ahlia!

  The refuge grew even quieter.

  The woman with the braid crawled forward until she reached Azhara, bowing her head so low her forehead touched the sand.

  Her breath shook.

  —Sultana… —her voice cracked before she could finish.

  The pale woman exhaled in a tremor.

  —We arrived… too late…

  She didn’t say it to any of us.

  It sounded like she was sentencing herself.

  Azhara didn’t lift her head.

  She couldn’t.

  Her fingers still cupped Ahlia’s cheek with a desperate tenderness, as if she could warm her back to life.

  Zayrah, face blotched from crying, looked up at her sisters.

  —We couldn’t… —she sobbed—.

  We… couldn’t…

  The woman with the braid bent even lower, as though the weight of her own grief was pushing her into the earth.

  The pale woman clenched her fists; the band on her left arm trembled with her breath.

  —Sultana… —she whispered—.

  Tell us… what to do.

  Azhara didn’t react.

  She only breathed—brokenly—each exhale shaking against Ahlia’s cold skin.

  We—Velka, Neyra, Caelia and I—stood watching.

  Not because we didn’t want to move.

  But because the scene before us was too intimate, too painful, too heavy to intrude upon.

  We hadn’t known Ahlia the way they had.

  We didn’t know her stories, or her childhood, or the promises shared between sisters.

  But we understood perfectly that something in Al-Rahad had just shattered

  forever.