Page 76

Zanyar finally tears his gaze away from mine, turning to face Lirael.

His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.

His lips are pressed into a thin, white line of defiance, as if she, personally, is responsible for this entire predicament.

He doesn’t answer. But his silence, along with his stare, speaks volumes.

“Very well, then,” Lirael says, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Olanna of Jamshah and Faelas of Izadeon. Make your choices.”

Olanna steps forward immediately with fierce determination in her eyes, but Faelas doesn’t move. He stands rooted to the spot. As Olanna walks toward the line of waiting Nohvans, all eyes swivel to Faelas.

Lila nudges him with a sharp jab of her elbow. “She called you,” she hisses.

Faelas nods curtly, acknowledging her, but his feet remain planted. Samira and Lila exchange shocked glances. Even Olanna, halfway to the Nohvans, pauses, turning back to stare at Faelas. Roshana, however, her face lights up with a dawning relief.

Olanna resumes her approach with tentative, almost fearful steps as if she expects the magnificent creature to lash out. When she reaches the Nohvan closest to us, she stops a few feet away, her body rigid with apprehension.

The Nohvan watches her calmly with assessing eyes. Our collective breath is held as we wonder what will happen next. From a distance, I see her lips moving, but she’s too far for us to hear. The Nohvan remains motionless, and its silence amplifies the tension.

Then, suddenly, it lowers its head, its long neck curving toward her. A collective gasp escapes us. But Olanna stands firm. I find myself silently cheering her on for her courage.

The Nohvan extends its neck further, bringing its massive head close to Olanna’s, almost eye-to-eye. It’s a moment of breathtaking intimacy, and for a terrifying second, I fear the worst, imagining that sharp, powerful beak piercing her flesh.

But the moment passes. The Nohvan retracts its head, and then, with a fluid grace, it bends its hind legs, lowering itself to the ground in an unmistakable invitation.

Olanna approaches the Nohvan, her movements initially tentative but gradually growing more confident. With care, almost reverence, she climbs onto its broad back, and then, with a powerful thrust of its wings, the Nohvan launches itself into the sky.

We all stare, our mouths agape, mesmerized by the sight of their soaring silhouette against the dawn.

“Samira of Jamshah and Bahador of Izadeon,” Lirael’s sharp, commanding voice calls, interrupting the moment. “Make your choices.”

Samira eagerly steps forward, ready to join Olanna wherever the Nohvan has taken her. Bahador remains motionless, but his usual carefree demeanor is gone. He looks… nervous. The guy who seemingly never had a worry in the world seems to be grappling with a life-altering decision.

“Can I have a moment?” he addresses Lirael with an uncharacteristic tremble in his eyes.

Lirael looks amused by Bahador’s unexpected request. She appraises him for a moment before nodding her consent. Bahador then turns to Darian. “Darian, can we have a word?”

Darian’s brow furrows and Faelas’s expression is even more troubled. They follow Bahador a few steps away, but before they get too far, Bahador turns to me. “Arien, can you come too?”

Frowning, I follow them as they move a safe distance from the others. Once we’re out of earshot, Bahador stops abruptly, and Faelas explodes.

“What in the nine hells is going on, Bahador?” His voice is harsh and laced with frustration and an underlying fear—the fear of a plan gone awry.

Bahador, however, ignores Faelas’s outburst, turning to Darian.

“I swore an oath to you, Darian. My life and my sword are yours. But above my personal loyalty to you is my duty to Izadeon and our people. And they’re suffering.

They’ve suffered enough.” The usual jovial light in his eyes is gone, replaced by a stark, almost painful earnestness.

“What are you saying, Bahador?” Faelas interrupts, his voice sharp with rising panic. “Enough with the cryptic pronouncements! Get to the point!”

Bahador turns to Faelas. “I’ve always trusted your judgment, Faelas, your intellect.

But sometimes, even the wisest among us must admit defeat.

We came here with the belief that we had a secret weapon.

The earth fragment. But Martysh knew all along.

And they weren’t worried. Do you know why?

Because they know it’s useless in our hands.

We came here to learn how to wield its power, and all we’ve discovered is that they’ve known about our ‘secret’ for over a decade.

We’re chasing shadows. We’re outmatched. ”

“So what?” Faelas retorts, his voice tight with anger. “You’re suggesting we just… give up? Beg Martysh for help? After centuries of betrayal and broken promises?”

“No,” Bahador says, his voice firm as he meets Faelas’s furious gaze.

“Not surrender. Alliance. We need allies, Faelas. And now,” he turns to Darian, “now that we know there are more fragments, and the Daevas are actively searching for them, Martysh is our only hope. If the sorcerous Daevas gain control of even one of those fragments and learn how to unlock its power, Izadeon is doomed. We all are. We can’t afford to wait another ten years clinging to the illusion that we can do this alone.

” He takes a deep breath, his voice softening slightly.

“I know you fear repeating the mistakes of your kin, Darian. But you’re not your ancestors.

You have honor. You have loyalty. You care deeply about Izadeon, and its people.

You can negotiate with Martysh. You can forge a true alliance.

A partnership based on mutual respect and a shared goal: the survival of our people. We have to try.”

I stare at Bahador, speechless. His doubts during training and his veiled comments make sense now. Darian, however, is a statue. Not shocked, not angry, not anything. Just… steel. Hard, impenetrable. He looks like a High Lord in the making.

“And what, pray tell, are we supposed to exchange in this grand alliance?” Faelas practically spits the words.

“Say it, Bahador! You want us to surrender the fragment. To hand over the one thing that might give us an advantage. You want us to surrender what my father died for… " He doesn’t finish. He’s too angry to finish.

Bahador, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He stands tall, his voice calm and steady when he responds to Faelas’s barely controlled rage. “No, Faelas. There’s a difference between surrendering in weakness and negotiating a partnership through strength.”

“And why now?” Faelas demands, crossing his arms, his body rigid with anger. “Why this sudden call for diplomacy? Can’t this wait until tomorrow? Until after the trial?”

Bahador hesitates, but I know, with certainty, what he’s about to say. It’s the only explanation for this desperate urgency .

“Perhaps,” Bahador says, his voice low, his gaze meeting Faelas’s, then shifting to Darian, “perhaps you’d be more open to the idea of negotiating with Martysh… if you had a friend on the inside.”

Faelas’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing, but Darian remains terrifyingly still.

His gaze is fixed on Bahador, and when he speaks, his voice is devoid of any warmth or any trace of the friendship that had bound them together for so long.

“Whether or not you join Martysh, it will not change my decision. My duty is to Izadeon, not my friends. However, if you choose that path, you forfeit your allegiance to me and your homeland. As your commander, as your liege,” he emphasizes the title, “I command you to stay. And if you disobey, you will never be welcomed back to Izadeon. Not as long as I rule.”

It’s a proclamation heavy with the weight of his authority. At this moment, he is not the Darian that I know as a friend. He is Darian Dartheon. A ruler. Cold, unyielding, and absolute.

Bahador’s expression shifts. Hope dissolves, replaced by a profound grief. But he doesn’t argue. He’d known, hadn’t he? He’d expected this.

“When I’m inside Martysh,” Bahador says with a steady voice, “I will advocate for Izadeon. I will persuade them to approach you and offer a partnership. To forge a bond that can save our people. I will respectfully disobey your order, my liege.” He pauses, his gaze softening, filled with a heartbreaking affection.

“My loyalty to you goes beyond duty, Darian. You’re my brother, in everything but blood.

But I hope, someday, you’ll understand that you’re not responsible for your family’s sins.

A ruler should be guided by reason and justice, by willingness to compromise, not by guilt and shame, or the ghosts of the past.”

He turns to Faelas, and his gaze softens further, filled with a deep, abiding love.

“And you, Faelas… your anger and grief are understandable. But it shouldn’t blind you to the reality.

I never imagined a life outside Izadeon, a life without you two by my side.

Losing a limb would be easier. However, I must do what I believe is right for Izadeon.

And I hope… I hope someday you’ll both forgive me.

” He pauses, then adds, with a quiet finality, “I will live only for the day that I see you both again. My brothers.”

With that, he turns and walks away toward the waiting Nohvans. Darian remains silent, his expression unreadable, as if he has already erased Bahador from his memory and life.

Faelas, however, is trembling, and his anger dissolves into a deep fear. He takes a step forward, then another, and soon he is running after Bahador. They speak in hushed tones, too distant for me to hear, but the scene is heartbreakingly clear.

Faelas is pleading and arguing. His gestures are frantic and desperate, while Bahador remains calm and resolute, listening with patient sadness. Then, Bahador pulls Faelas into a final embrace.

Faelas freezes, shocked by the unexpected contact, then recoils and pushes Bahador away, shouting something. His face is contorted with anger and pain. Bahador doesn’t react or flinch; he simply smiles—a sad, weary smile—nods once and continues toward the Nohvan.

This time, Faelas doesn’t follow. He stands there, alone, watching as Bahador, with incredible agility, mounts the Nohvan’s back with a single, fluid movement. And then, the Nohvan soars into the sky, disappearing into the dawn.

And just like that, he is gone, flown away from his friends, from his home, forever.