You nod, swallowing the heavy lump of doubt in your throat.
—Then lead the way.—
She moves quickly, silent as a shadow slipping through the dark streets of Al-Mirkat. You follow, heart hammering, every nerve on edge. The city breathes around you—whispers of late traders, the soft clink of lanterns, the distant bark of a guard dog—but none notice the two figures fading into the night.
The woman’s pace is relentless. You stumble once or twice, the gravel crunching beneath your boots, but she waits no longer than a breath. You keep up, fueled by the wild, desperate hope she offers.
Hours pass. The city falls behind, swallowed by dunes and moonlit desert. The cold night air bites at your skin beneath your thin cloak. Your legs scream with fatigue. You want to stop, to collapse, but she does not slow.
At last, the temple rises before you—an ancient stone skeleton silhouetted against the stars, half swallowed by sand. You expect light, figures, voices—anything—but the temple is empty. A hollow silence presses down like a shroud.
—Where is everyone?— you whisper.
She pulls her hood back, eyes sharp in the moonlight.
—They’re gone.— Her voice is tight with fear. —Your uncle must have seen this coming. The emperor’s men are hunting him. He fled before we did.—
You stare at the empty courtyard. It feels like a trap, a cruel joke.
—So all this was a lie? The loyalists, the promise?—
—No.— She shakes her head. —He’s alive. But the emperor’s reach grows longer every day. The Magi’s magic, the emperor’s armies—they’ll burn the desert to ashes if they must.—
Before you can reply, the sharp clatter of hooves breaks the stillness. Your blood freezes. From the edge of the dunes, a column of riders appears, their armor glinting in the moonlight, cloaks flapping like dark wings behind them.
The emperor’s soldiers.
—They’re here,— you breathe, stepping back, heart hammering. —What do we do?—
The woman’s eyes dart wildly. She turns and bolts, already fleeing in the opposite direction.
—Come!— she shouts over her shoulder. —If they catch us here, it’s death. We can still slip away—if you’re fast.—
You hesitate, caught between the stony silence of the temple and the desert night behind her. The soldiers fan out, searching, voices harsh in the wind. One of them calls out:
—Out with you! Show yourselves, traitors!—
The desert is wide, but the soldiers are faster on their horses.
You face two choices: step from your hiding place and surrender, or run—chasing shadows with a stranger whose promises might be your last hope.
Your breath ragged, you make your move.
—Wait for me!— you call, and break into a sprint.
The woman glances back, then pushes onward, weaving between dunes and broken pillars. You follow, the pounding hooves growing louder behind you, the desert swallowing your fear and your hope both whole.
You swallow the rising panic and step out from your hiding place, raising your hands slowly.
—I surrender,— you say, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest.
The riders halt instantly, weapons trained on you. One dismounts, eyes sharp and cold.
—By command of Emperor Claudius, you are under arrest.—
There is no mercy in his tone, only the weight of inevitability. You lower your gaze, feeling the desert’s fire dim as chains close around your wrists. The night swallows your last breath of freedom.
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