The Aftermath of Battle
Noor had vanished.
Not literally—she never needed to—but for days, she had locked herself in the quiet corners of her vast estate, an unspoken exile. The only sound from her wing was the occasional rustle of silk or the chime of wind against her windows.
Orders were given through Heath or Zeyla. Meetings postponed. The estate's grand halls, usually filled with the movement of guards and staff, felt eerily hollow without her presence.
Maya and Zeyla knew better than to disturb her. Noor's isolation always followed the storm—after battle, after rage. It was as if she needed time to strip herself back down to the person she had once been before stepping into the role of warrior, leader, and executioner again.
Still, the rest of the world hadn't stopped.
So today, Maya and Zeyla found themselves in one of Noor's private hospitals, visiting the men who had dared to challenge her.
The room was filled with groaning guards, their bodies wrapped in bandages, some with splints, others barely able to lift their heads. A few of them tensed at the sight of Maya and Zeyla, as if bracing for more humiliation.
Before the battle, they had scoffed at Noor's decision to favor the two women. They had whispered about nepotism, about how they were just secretaries with sharp tongues.
Then they had seen Noor's wrath.
Now, the resentment in their eyes had shifted into something more uneasy—something closer to fear.
Zeyla took one look at the room full of battered men and snorted.
Maya raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Zeyla smirked, glancing at the nearest bed-ridden guard. "You know… Noor doesn't kill people most of the time. She just sends them here instead."
Maya pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. "You're saying she uses the hospitals to store her victims?"
Zeyla shrugged, feigning innocence. "It's efficient."
One of the guards groaned from the other side of the room. "She didn't have to go that hard…"
Maya crossed her arms, looking at him with mock sympathy. "You challenged Madame Noor. What exactly did you expect? That she'd take it easy on you?"
The man winced. "I don't know… maybe that she wouldn't break my ribs."
Zeyla leaned against the wall. "She was being merciful. If she really wanted, you wouldn't even be breathing."
The room fell into an awkward silence.
Maya cleared her throat, deciding to steer the conversation somewhere less grim. "Anyway. I was thinking… Our Madam has always been obsessed with efficiency, right? Maybe that's why she built the hospitals."
Zeyla gave her a pointed look. "You think Lady Noor started a multi-billion-dollar medical empire because she cares about efficiency?"
Maya frowned. "Well, yeah. That and charity. She's always cared about orphans and the poor."
Zeyla chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Maya. You still don't know, do you?"
Maya narrowed her eyes. "Know what?"
Zeyla smirked, tilting her head toward the injured guards. "Madam didn't start these hospitals for charity."
Maya stared. "Then why?"
Zeyla leaned in as if sharing a great secret. "Because she once beat fifty men so badly in training that she realized she needed her own medical facility to fix them afterward."
Maya's jaw dropped.
"You're joking."
Zeyla shook her head. "Nope. That was the birth of her first hospital. A place to clean up after her own destruction." She gestured dramatically to the injured men. "And here we are."
Maya looked around at the battered guards, then back at Zeyla. "You're telling me… she beat up so many people, so often, that she built a hospital chain just to keep up?"
Zeyla shrugged. "It was efficient."
Maya sighed. "You keep saying that like it's normal."
Zeyla grinned. "It is normal."
One of the injured guards groaned again. "I hate that she doesn't even need weapons to destroy us."
Maya snickered. "She is the weapon."
---
Maya and Zeyla left the hospital at sunset, walking through the quiet estate.
Maya's mind was still turning over everything she had learned. The battle. Noor's ruthless efficiency. The hospitals.
And then there was the mafia.
Maya had heard whispers before. Strange rumors about Noor's darker past. But she had never put much thought into them—until now not like she could find anything even if she tried.
She glanced at Zeyla. "The mafia rumors… they're true, aren't they?"
Zeyla's footsteps slowed.
She didn't speak immediately, as if choosing her words carefully. "They aren't just rumors."
Maya's stomach tightened. "She… she was part of one?"
Zeyla's gaze remained on the horizon. "No. She led one."
Maya almost tripped. "WHAT?!"
Zeyla exhaled. "Not in the way you're thinking. Noor didn't join a mafia. She crushed one. And when the survivors swore loyalty to her, she didn't reject them."
Maya stared. "But—why?"
Zeyla's voice was quiet. "Because someone took something from her. And she took everything from them in return."
Maya's chest felt heavy. "She never talks about it."
"She never will," Zeyla said. "Noor's past is like a locked room. If you try to open the door, she'll burn down the whole house."
Maya swallowed hard.
What kind of pain did it take to turn someone into a force like her?
The conversation with the injured guards lingered in Maya's mind, but more than that, Zeyla's casual revelation about the origins of Noor's hospital empire gnawed at her. She had always thought Noor's motivations were purely altruistic—philanthropy, a desire to help the weak.
But now, she wasn't so sure.
Maya glanced at Zeyla, who walked beside her with an easy confidence, hands tucked behind her back. Despite her relaxed posture, there was something unreadable in her expression, as if she was waiting for Maya to ask the next question.
Maya exhaled. "Alright, tell me the whole truth now. Don't keep me hanging. Noor started the hospitals to fix the people she broke in training, and she runs a multi-trillionaire empire. But there's something more, isn't there?"
Zeyla smirked, tilting her head as she walked. "There's always something more with Madam Noor. and you.. don't drop the honorrofics like that, she's not only bigger in status but your employer and moreover older then you."
Maya scoffed before asking, "Tsk..The mafia rumors… they're true, aren't they?"
Zeyla's smirk faded slightly, replaced with something more thoughtful. "I was wondering when you'd ask."
Maya felt her stomach tighten. "So they are true."
Zeyla let out a slow breath, watching the distant mountains as they walked. "Not in the way people think."
Maya frowned. "Then tell me. What really happened?"
Zeyla glanced at Maya, then away again, as if weighing her words carefully. "I don't know the full story, and probably no one does except Noor herself. But from what I've heard, it's been more than four years since those events. Stories are told that she lost someone—or maybe something important—in one of her battles. In her fury, she went on a killing spree, taking out anyone who stood in her way. Those who survived either fled or joined her. And once she started, she was unstoppable. The businesses she had were already thriving, but after that… she became more focused, more dedicated. Now, she's a multi-trillionaire, a business tycoon, and one of the most feared individuals in the country."
"But that's not all, there is more, more I wanted to learn about her when I started serving her but there was nothing... I just couldn't go beyond that point and then one day she just____uhh, just one look and it was over."
Maya sighed , " what do you mean it was over just like that?"
Zeyla looking at the distance horizon," It was over because she wanted it to be like it. Not that she ever ordered it but then I just decided to stick to her no matter what."
Maya nodded, slowly understanding the complexities of Noor's character. **"It's like she's living two lives,"** she murmured. **"One as a devout servant of GOD, and the other as a ruthless protector."**
Zeyla shrugged slightly. **"In a way, yes. But for Noor, there's no contradiction. Both sides of her are driven by the same thing: an unshakable will to survive, to protect, to ensure that those who depend on her are never left vulnerable."**
She paused for a moment, then added with a wink, "But remember, Maya, don't tell Madame Noor I told you all this. If you didn't know until now, there might have been a reason. She doesn't reveal her past to just anyone."
---
That night, Noor emerged.
She said nothing as she entered her chambers, only issuing a single order.
"Prepare the bath."
Zeyla nodded, bowing slightly before she and Maya left the room.
The corridor felt endless, stretching before them like a path neither of them wished to walk. Maya's hands clenched into fists as the weight of Noor's command settled in her chest. She had seen this preparation before—watched Zeyla fill the bath with cold spring water, mix the strange herbs with an almost sacred precision. But she had never asked why.
Tonight, something felt different. Urgent. Ominous.
When they entered the preparation room, Zeyla moved with practiced efficiency, though her hands trembled slightly as she handled the herbs. Maya frowned, her gaze catching on the raw, reddened skin of Zeyla's fingers—burned.
"Your hands…" Maya reached out, instinctively grasping Zeyla's wrist. "What happened?"
Zeyla flinched. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Maya caught it. Instead of answering, Zeyla pulled her hand back and continued her work, grinding the dried leaves with slow, deliberate movements.
"It doesn't matter," she murmured.
Maya's unease deepened.
"Then tell me," she pressed, voice soft but insistent. "What is this bath really for?"
Zeyla hesitated. The grinding stopped. A long silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.
"To heal her."
Maya's stomach twisted.
"Heal her from what?" she asked, though something told her she wouldn't like the answer.
Zeyla's fingers tightened around the bowl. "I wish I had the answer for that."
Maya swallowed hard. "But why does it burn?"
Zeyla sighed, her expression tired, like someone who had carried knowledge too heavy for too long.
"The water is laced with herbs that force the body to repair itself. They draw out infection, seal wounds, fortify the blood. But the process…" She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. "It's agony."
Maya's breath hitched.
"And she does this willingly?"
Zeyla's lips pressed into a thin line. "May be doesn't feel pain the way we do." She exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe she does. Perhaps she just doesn't care."
Maya's hands curled into fists.
"This is madness."
Zeyla shook her head. "who are we to be the judge to it?"
A chill crawled up Maya's spine.
"And the tea?" she asked hesitantly, recalling the dark liquid Noor drank every night, always prepared by her own hands.
Zeyla's expression darkened.
"Poison."
Maya froze. "What?"
"Every night, she takes a measured dose. Enough to make her suffer, but not enough to kill her."
The room seemed to close in around her.
Maya's voice trembled. "Why?"
Zeyla's gaze was unreadable. "To make sure no one else ever can."
Silence. Cold. Suffocating.
Maya suddenly felt small. Insignificant in the face of something she could barely comprehend.
"She's…" The words tangled in her throat. "She's .... No... Why..Noo ..."
Zeyla nodded, her eyes reflecting something that looked eerily like sorrow.
"I know what you are thinking but this is as far we are allowed to know."
---
When Noor entered the cold spring bath, she moved like a ghost, draped in sheer white, her presence commanding, unshaken.
The water was frigid. Unforgiving. A single touch would have sent any normal person recoiling, but Noor stepped in without pause. The fabric clung to her body as she sank deeper, until the icy water kissed her collarbones.
Maya and Zeyla stood in silence. Watching. Waiting.
Maya's breath came unevenly. Noor did not so much as shudder.
"How…?" Maya whispered, unable to finish the question.
Zeyla's gaze never left Noor. "She's done this for years."
Steam curled in the dim candlelight, mixing with the heavy scent of herbs. The air was thick with something Maya could only describe as reverence. Or fear.
Then Noor reached for the flute.
Maya barely had time to process before a melody filled the room—a sound so haunting, so heartbreakingly raw, that she felt it in her bones.
Each note was sorrow. Each breath was a silent confession.
Maya had never heard anything like it. A song of something buried so deep, it could only be expressed through music.
Her throat tightened.
Zeyla swallowed hard, but did not hide the moisture gathering in her eyes.
"This…" Maya's voice cracked. "This isn't just music."
Zeyla exhaled shakily. "No." Her voice was soft. "It's everything she can never say."
Maya stared at Noor—the woman she thought she knew.
The woman who had saved her. The woman who had built an empire. The woman who sat in a freezing bath, poisoning herself night after night, suffering in silence.
The woman who played her agony into the air, letting it exist in sound because she refused to let it exist anywhere else.
And in that moment, Maya understood.
Noor was not human. Not entirely.
She was something more. Something terrifying. Something tragic.
A legend forged in suffering.
A ghost who refused to die.
---
The melody was haunting. Ancient. It echoed through the room, filling the silence with something raw and aching.
It was beautiful. And unbearably sad.
Zeyla clenched her fists. Noor wasn't just playing music. She was bleeding through sound.
In that moment, Noor looked unreal. Her dark hair floating in the water, her sheer dress clinging to her form like mist. She was something untouchable.
She is like the water, Maya thought. Cold, untouchable… yet more alive than anything I've ever known.
And as the final note faded, Noor opened her eyes.
They were unreadable.
Maya and Zeyla exchanged a glance.
Noor's path was one they could only follow from a distance.
But no matter how far she pulled away—
They would never leave her side.
---
The water swallowed her whole, wrapping around her like a second skin. Icy tendrils licked at her wounds, sinking deep into flesh that had already endured more than its fair share. Yet, Noor did not flinch.
She closed her eyes, letting the cold seep into her bones, numbing her to everything but the rhythmic beat of her own heart. The pain was there—of course, it was—but it no longer controlled her. It no longer demanded her attention.
For the first time in days, she was still.
Maya watched in silence, a lump lodged in her throat. The sight of Noor—submerged in icy water, her long hair fanning out like dark silk—was hauntingly beautiful. There was no tension in her form, no sign of discomfort. Only… serenity.
She had expected to see Noor battle against the pain. Grit her teeth. Tremble. But instead, she looked as if she belonged there, in that frozen stillness, as if the cold and the ache were simply part of her existence, neither enemy nor friend.
Maya turned to Zeyla, who stood beside her with arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"She's... at peace?" Maya whispered, hesitant.
Zeyla didn't answer right away. She merely observed Noor for a long moment before responding, "Despiye having the world at her disposal.....That is the only luxury I never saw her having."
Maya's chest ached at those words.
Noor remained in the bath longer than any human should. The water should have stolen the warmth from her limbs, made her shudder, turned her lips blue. But when she finally rose, she was steady.
Water cascaded from her form as she stepped out, the silk of her robe clinging to her curves before falling away with each deliberate movement. Maya and Zeyla moved without a word, wrapping her in thick, warm towels, but Noor did not shiver.
She exhaled softly, closing her eyes for a brief moment, and in that stillness, Maya saw something rare.
Not exhaustion. Not torment.
Not the fragile, fleeting emotions that came from distraction, but the kind carved from endurance. The kind that came from accepting the pain, embracing it, and mastering it until it could no longer touch her soul.
Maya lowered her gaze, humbled.
"Prepare the tea," Noor murmured, her voice smooth as ever.
Maya hesitated. The poison. The self-inflicted suffering.
But she did not question Noor. She only bowed and left to obey.
As she walked away, she glanced back one last time, watching as Noor stood before the dim candlelight, steam rising from her skin.
She had survived another battle. Another storm.
And she stood—unshaken.