Page 35

Oman stood at the edge of the camp, the rough fabric of the tent fluttering in the wind as he gazed out over the makeshift settlement.

It was a far cry from what he'd expected—a brutal, chaotic world filled with the desperate and the broken.

But this? This was different. It was almost..

. peaceful. He had expected only violence, thieves, and desperation, but here, in the heart of this ragtag group, he found something he hadn't expected: life. Vibrant, fleeting life.

Nearby, a group of children, no more than ten or twelve, were playing a game of tag.

Their laughter echoed through the camp, a bright melody that seemed to chase away the dark thoughts that had plagued him for so long.

Their feet kicked up clouds of dust as they ran in circles, completely oblivious to the chaos that had led them here, to this temporary haven.

Oman watched them for a long moment, his heart heavy with a bittersweet longing. He remembered when life had been like that for him—carefree, full of promise. But that was before everything had been torn apart. Before he had become a soldier in a war that felt like it had no end.

The men of the bandit group, rough and hardened by years of struggle, were tending to their horses and repairing weapons.

Oman couldn't help but notice how different these men were from the picture he had painted in his mind.

He had expected them to be nothing more than ruthless criminals, scavengers who took what they wanted without a second thought.

But as he watched them, he saw something more—a quiet dignity in their work, a sense of purpose.

They weren't just thieves and killers; they were survivors.

Just like him.

Shahbaz was still hunting them. The fear gnawed at him, a constant ache deep in his chest. He couldn't afford to lose his sister and Tara. Not after everything they'd been through. Tara had stood by him through it all. But the uncertainty, the constant fear—they were taking a toll on her.

And his sister. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain she had suffered.

Even if she wouldn't tell him, he knew. She had been the one person who had always managed to stay strong, even when it seemed like all hope was lost. But she wasn't the same anymore.

She had lost so much—her innocence, her trust in the world. It hurt him to see her this way.

"None of us ever expected this life," a voice rasped behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turned to see Rashid standing there, his face weathered and tired, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding.

Rashid had been with Kasim for years, and he knew the cost of this life better than anyone.

"But what you see here?" Rashid continued, his voice low, "This is our truth. It's not the life we wanted, but it's the one the world gave us. Kasim... he didn't choose this path out of greed or malice. He chose it to protect what little we have left."

His role as a soldier, as a protector, had always been clear—fight, command, lead. But in that clarity, he had sacrificed his own humanity.

Oman's gaze lingered on the man for a moment before he replied, his voice edged with skepticism. "Protect? By stealing from others? By taking from those who are just as desperate?"

Rashid's expression hardened, but there was no anger in his voice. Instead, it was the calm of a man who had lived through too much to waste time on petty arguments.

"You think we want this? We've been pushed into this life.

The Sultan and his men... they took everything from us.

Our land, our families, our dignity. Do you think we have any choice?

The Sultan's soldiers burn our villages, kill our people, and force us to choose: fight back or die.

So, yes, we take from others. But we do it to survive.

Every piece of food, every coin, every shelter is another day we can live, another day we can resist the world that wants to see us broken. "

Oman clenched his fists, feeling the weight of Rashid's words.

His training as a commander had always taught him that survival came with a price—that war demanded sacrifices.

But this... this felt different. He had been trained to view men like Rashid as nothing more than criminals—people who lived outside the law and deserved no mercy.

Yet, as he looked into Rashid's eyes, he saw something else: pain, resilience, and a quiet determination to survive. They weren't just fighting for themselves. They were fighting for their people, for their lives.

"Every man has his reasons," Rashid added quietly, placing a hand on Oman's shoulder. "We know what it means to fight for something worth living for. And if you want to protect what's right, you'll see it too. Kasim is the one who'll make that possible."

Oman turned his gaze back to the camp, his mind swirling with the enormity of the decision before him.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed Tara in the camp.

She was standing with a group of women, her hands busy with the mundane chores.

She was mimicking them. But what struck him was the way she was smiling—really smiling—for the first time in days.

His heart twisted with a mixture of longing and guilt. He had promised her safety, a life free from fear, but instead, they were living in the shadow of constant danger.

Here in this camp, he saw a chance—a chance to strike back, to fight not just for survival, but for something worth living for.

He turned to Rashid, the decision clear in his eyes. "I need to speak with Kasim."

Rashid nodded, his face unreadable. "Whatever decision you make, we'll respect it. But I know you'll stand with what's right."

Later, as Oman stood before Kasim, he spoke with resolve. "I can help," he said, his voice steady. "I know how to command men, how to strategize. I've led armies before, and I can lead now. If we fight, we fight to win."

He would fight for something that transcended war. He would fight for life.

Kasim studied him for a long moment, his eyes cold, calculating. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. We'll begin preparations. But know this, Oman: if you betray us, if you even think of turning against my people, there will be no place on this earth where you can hide from my wrath."

Oman met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I wouldn't dream of it. We both want the same thing. We will bring the Sultan to his knees."

As Kasim nodded, a silent agreement passed between them. Oman felt it deep in his bones. This was only the beginning.

Oman felt something stir within him—a new purpose. No longer just a warrior, but a protector. And perhaps, for the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of hope. Together, they would rise, and together, they would make the Sultan pay for what he had taken.

Kasim stood before the gathered clan, his voice steady and commanding as he announced Oman's appointment as their new commander. The respect in his tone was clear, his words chosen carefully to ensure that the clan understood the gravity of the decision.

"Oman will lead us," Kasim declared, his eyes sweeping over the gathered faces, "not because of blood or title, but because he has the strength, the will, and the vision to guide us through the challenges ahead."

Most of the clan members nodded in agreement, murmuring their approval. Oman could feel the weight of their gaze, some full of hope, others laced with skepticism.

But there were a few who didn't look convinced. Their faces remained hard, their expressions unreadable. Oman met their stares, as though challenging them.

Kasim gave him a tight smile and walked away. After a while, everyone scattered. Oman scanned the camp.

A sharp voice broke his concentration. "You know, standing there all brooding doesn't make you any more interesting."

Oman turned to find Layla standing nearby, her arms crossed, her face guarded as always.

He raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't trying to be interesting. Just thinking."

Layla smirked, though it was more playful than hostile. "Well, thinking doesn't win wars. Action does."

Oman studied her for a moment, noting the sharpness in her gaze, the way she stood tall.

Layla took a step closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. "You think you can lead this band of misfits? They'll follow you... for now. But don't expect it to last long. They're not like your soldiers."

Oman felt a flicker of annoyance. "I know how to lead."

"You think so?" Layla's tone was dripping with skepticism. She leaned in slightly, studying him with an almost predatory intensity.

Tara caught sight of Oman and Layla. They were standing close—too close. Layla was speaking to him, her voice low and intimate, a smile playing on her lips.

Tara felt a lump rise in her throat as her chest tightened.

Oman was about to reply Layla when Tara called him.

She looked between them. "I wanted to talk," she murmured, her words barely above a whisper.

As Tara stepped forward, Layla glanced her way, her eyes narrowing for a brief moment before the smile returned to her lips. With a slow, deliberate movement, Layla turned to leave, her gaze lingering on Oman for a second too long.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his voice smooth, but distracted. He was happy to see her near him, but too much was going on in his head, which was making it hard for him to concentrate on her.

Tara hesitated, unsure if her words would come out the way she wanted. Her hands nervously fidgeted at her sides, betraying her inner turmoil. She licked her lips, fighting back the nerves that made her voice quiver.

"Are we... are we not going to sleep together anymore?"

Oman looked around to find Fatima. But she wasn't anywhere near them.

"Give me some time, Tara. I will talk to Fatima first. You don't say anything to her. Okay?" he said in his commanding tone.

Tara felt as if he wasn't her Oman. She felt too tiny standing in front of him.

Tara just nodded and could barely hold his gaze, her eyes darting to the ground as the self-doubt crept in.

She was about to speak again when Rashid's voice sliced through the moment. "Oman!" he called, stepping into their space, his presence sudden and unwelcome in the middle of their fragile exchange.

Rashid came and hugged him in a brotherly manner and congratulated him.