Summer came with a sinister blaze that scorched the fields and rotted the corpses.
Another year. Another conquest. Another batch of slaves.
Whip!
"Ahhh!"
Whip!
"Ahhh!"
Xuma scoffed. Her disgust for the slave trainers reached a new high as the painful shrieks of the new slaves resounded in the courtyard.
She knew. They found joy in the others despair. And for the love of Erlan, she couldn't understand why.
Once, they were slaves themselves.
Captured and bound like a pack of livestock. Their homelands razed to the ground in a crackle of flame. They were hoarded to this empire with an identity lower than a pig.
As individuals who experienced the pain of losing everything in a matter of seconds. Wrenched from their lands, and thrust into a life of servitude, one would think they would empathize and show a bit of compassion.
But that was not the case.
The former slaves turned Slave Trainers reveled in the groans of pain, and found pride in the crimson scars they inflicted.
Xuma covered her nose. The stench of burning flesh swirled in the air. Though pretty and exquisite, her long sleeve wasn't designed for such a task. The rancid stench seeped through the silk folds and drifted into her nostrils, making her stomach churn.
'Rotten Empire', she wiped her forehead, 'and their rotten seasons'.
At moments like this, she missed her home. It was one of peace, of joy, and of pleasant spring. A land of blossoms, reduced to ash.
A shadow moved on her right. In an inconspicuous manner, it stepped closer to her side and spoke in a volume for her ears alone.
"Xuma, do it tonight. The Emperor must die before dawn. The General is outside the gate."
Her heart skipped a beat. The hand inside the silk tightened into a fist. Without turning her head, in a tone as calm as she could muster, Xuma whispered. "Joan is leading the assault?"
"Yes. The General passed a message."
Silent tremors shook through her body. Her stomach flipped, anxiety and nervousness coiling it into tight, uncomfortable knots. As if testing her patience, the figure paused far longer than necessary, before continuing at the sound of her disgruntled snort.
"As promised, I've come for you. I'll personally free you from this cage. So don't make a mistake and complete the mission on time."
Message conveyed, the shadow retreated with the same natural ease as he stepped forward, and faded into the group of servants.
'As promised, I've come for you. I'll personally free you from this cage...'
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Xuma barely registered the salutations of the guards and the respectful greetings of the ministers, as she left the courtyard and returned to her chamber.
After 10 years of imprisonment. After ten years of toiling and planning behind these walls. She would finally be free, would finally see her fiancé again.
Xuma could barely contain the excitement in her heart. She felt like laughing and weeping at the same time. But there were servants in the room, watching and noting every shift in her expression. She could not afford to do either.
Not yet anyway.
Soon. Very soon.
She promised herself.
To not seem out of character and expose herself, she slipped off the cumbersome palace gown and changed into a training gear. She needed to expel some energy.
Grabbing her bow and arrows, Xuma headed to the training field.
The Frost-Flame Empire prided itself on its strong warriors. Unmindful of the other nations perception, the empire held monthly target competitions, annual hunting events, and bi-annual empire-wide warrior selection. The terror spread by their iron-clad warriors earned them the nickname 'Stone Empire'.
In the Stone Empire, strength spoke the loudest.
Cold-blooded they were born.
Hateful and brutal to the bone they became.
Xuma figured it probably had something to do with the two moons and suns that hovered over the land. All year round, it was either bone-chilling cold, or unbearably hot.
She imagined the targets to be the emperor's heart. Firing a string of arrows, they all nailed the practice targets right in the eye.
Cold in nature. Fiery in temper. Such men only knew violence and destruction.
"Amazing…"
Xuma stiffened. Goosebumps raised up her neck and numbed her senses. She hadn't sensed his presence at all!
His front pressed flush to her back. As he breathed in her ear, his hands fell on her shoulders in the most intimate way. Against her better judgment, and out of pure instinct and extreme revulsion, she took a step forward.
She really wanted to fling off his hands. The revolting limbs covered in the blood of innumerable innocent lives-and who knew what else-gave her the feeling of ants crawling on her skin.
This man disgusted her. Deeply, truly, and nauseatingly so. His touch alone was enough to make her insides roil and her throat turn sour.
But upon recalling the message of her beloved man, she suppressed her nausea and breathed with her lips parted, trying to think of anything but the fingers caressing her shoulders like a dear lover. Or the dark presence looming over her tiny frame.
"Will you come and sleep with me tonight?" Though his tone carried a pleading note, it did not fool her.
No! Not in a hundred years!
She wanted so badly to shriek those words in his face. To kick and curse him, then spit at his feet and call him a monster, like she did every time he asked her this question.
She wanted so badly to run out of the training field that her limbs shook.
'Xuma, do it tonight. The Emperor must die before dawn. The General is outside the gate.'
She couldn't. This was the chance. The only opportunity she had to end the tyranny of this rotten empire, and escape from this prison.
For herself and the rest of the enslaved. For her nation that had been reduced to ash, and the many more that would follow.
She could do it.
No. She had to do it.
She suppressed her hatred and endured for so many years. Wasn't it all for this day? So for her revenge, for a better tomorrow, tonight, she'll embrace the demon.
"I'll...come."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, and if one listened closely, they could even detect the venom concealed within its soft tilt.
But for the man who yearned to hear those very words for so many years, nothing registered in his mind other than the faint,
'I'll...come'.