The sun hung low over Thavra's eastern wall, casting long shadows across the training ground. Dust rose from the earth as metal clashed, echoing against the high stone of the surrounding courtyard. Jaya Malik's breath came steady but fast, her twin sabers slicing through the air with practiced precision.
Across from her stood General Rami Malik, his sword moving with a calm grace. His form was disciplined, each step rooted deep into the ground, each parry deliberate. He blocked her high strike with the flat of his blade and smoothly spun to counter with a feint.
Jaya dodged and responded with a quick double-strike, one saber aiming for his flank, the other for his shoulder. He stepped between them, knocking her off balance with the hilt of his sword.
"You hesitate when you're certain you'll hit," Rami said.
Jaya gritted her teeth, falling back and resetting her stance. "I calculate."
"You second guess," he corrected.
She didn't reply. She came at him again—faster, more reckless. Their weapons sparked with each contact, each move drawing a chorus of gasps from the young trainees watching at a distance. She was the daughter of the City Lord, but on this ground, she was only another fighter.
Finally, Rami disarmed her with a twist of his blade, sending one saber flying across the sand. Her other hand dropped from exhaustion. She looked up, chest heaving, and gave a small shake of her head.
"You've improved," Rami said, offering his hand. "Still too proud, but better."
She accepted his hand and stood. Sweat clung to her brow, and her dark tunic was damp from effort.
"Then let me come with you this time."
Rami raised an eyebrow. "Come with me where?"
"To the Inner Core," she said. "You're leading the hunting party tomorrow. I want to go. Not to the periphery. The Core."
He sighed and she could already see the no forming on his lips.
"I'm ready," she pushed. "You've trained me. I'm better than half your guards. I'm sick of chasing wild hens at the outer trees."
Rami walked over to a water jug, poured into a small clay cup, and drank. He passed her another.
"You're good," he admitted. "Better than your peers. But don't mistake skill with experience."
She took the cup but didn't drink. "I'm not a child."
"You're still a frog in the well, Jaya," he said, turning to face her. "You've seen the walls of Thavra your whole life and think you understand danger. You don't. The world doesn't fight like we do in here. It doesn't follow rules. Out there, things don't just want to beat you. They want to end you."
She met his gaze. "Then I want to see it for myself."
He studied her for a moment. "You'll come. But only to the edge. You don't step into the Core without command. That's final."
She opened her mouth to protest, but his expression silenced her. He wasn't her uncle when he looked like that—he was the General of Thavra.
---
Meanwhile, the city's grand hall stood in quiet tension. Sunlight filtered through colored glass, casting red and gold patterns across the long stone table where the city elders had gathered.
City Lord Adem Malik stood at the head, tall and sharp-featured, his eyes cold with calculation. Unlike his brother, the general, Adem rarely raised his voice. But when he spoke, people listened.
"The reports came again this morning," Adem began, his voice steady. "Three more caravans struck on the southern pass. No deaths, but supplies lost. Grain, cloth, medicine."
Elder Mahin scoffed. "The same bandits again. They steal without fear."
"They know we won't chase them beyond the borders," said Elder Farah, her rings clinking as she gestured. "We've become predictable."
Elder Bakr, always conservative in his tone, nodded slowly. "These aren't just stragglers. They're organized. They know our weaknesses."
"They bleed us one cut at a time," Mahin growled. "They hide behind rocks and shadows, yet we act like they're ghosts."
Adem folded his hands. "I will not send our guard into the hills blind. Rami's party leaves at dawn. They'll push further than usual. If these bandits are hiding in the crevices near the Core, we'll find them."
"We must not provoke a larger force," Bakr warned. "If they're more than just bandits—"
"Then we'll know soon enough," Adem said. "But we can't sit idle while our borders fray. We'll handle this quietly, but decisively."
The council fell into murmured agreement. Outside the grand hall, Thavra buzzed with the sounds of evening: merchants closing shops, guards switching shifts, and the long shadows of dusk slipping over the white stone walls.
Adem Malik remained silent, gazing at the southern window where the distant treetops of the forest brushed the horizon. His jaw was set, thoughts unreadable.
---
Jaya left the training ground as the sun dipped lower. The warmth of exertion still clung to her skin, and her legs ached from the hours spent dueling. As she entered the castle's eastern wing, the smell of roasted lamb and spiced rice drifted from the kitchens.
A maid approached, bowing slightly. "Princess Jaya, your father reminded us to tell you: he expects you for dinner at the main table tonight."
Jaya gave a small nod. "I'll be there. Thank you."
She made her way to her chambers. Inside, warm steam rose from a large bronze basin. The maids had already drawn her bath and set fresh linen robes on the bench nearby.
Once alone, she stepped into the water. The heat soaked into her tired limbs, soothing the bruises beneath her skin. But her mind didn't rest.
Her eyes fixed on the high window above, the sky now tinted in soft orange hues. Her thoughts wandered, as they often did.
Beyond the walls of Thavra, a world waited.
She'd seen glimpses of it—hunting parties, escorted trips, the periphery of the forest with its cautious animals and rustling branches. But never the Core. Never the thick, untamed heart of the wildlands where danger breathed and legend lingered.
Her fingers drifted along the water's surface.
She'd always been told that the Core was too dangerous. That only the elite went there. That she had no need to.
But she didn't want safety. She wanted to understand. She wanted to feel something more than training and rules.
By the time her thoughts settled, the once-warm water had gone cool.
She rose, water streaming down her skin, and wrapped herself in a towel. Moving to her vanity, she looked at her reflection.
Jaya wasn't just beautiful—she was arresting. Her chestnut eyes held a fire that no dress could hide. Her body, shaped from years of training, bore the strength of a warrior and the grace of nobility.
Her figure was the kind poets stumbled over trying to describe—sharp where it needed to be, soft where it mattered. Her posture, even relaxed, commanded presence.
Most who saw her assumed she was just a pampered daughter of a lord. They saw her silk gowns, her guarded smiles, and thought her soft.
But Jaya knew better. She had scars no one saw. And more than that, she had hunger.
Not for power. Not for glory.
But for freedom.
She dressed in a simple tunic and belt, tying her hair back loosely, and made her way toward the main hall where her father waited.
Dinner with Adem Malik was rarely casual.
Tonight, she intended to listen. But she also had questions—ones she'd kept quiet far too long.