The scent of salt and blood hung thick in the early morning air. Zania’s hands gripped the well-worn hilt of her scimitar as the cries of the wounded mingled with the call of gulls overhead. Her silken emerald cloak fluttered in the wind, the golden embroidery of falcons shimmering like trapped sunlight. She stood atop the battlements of Salemis, the ancient Sumerian port city, her leather sandals pressing into the weathered stone. The city, now a storm-tossed cauldron of chaos, sprawled behind her with its zigzagging streets and smoke-threaded sky. Below her, the expanse of the eastern sea shifted restlessly, its waves gleaming crimson in the sun's first rays.
"We hold them here, or the city falls," came the gruff voice of Ralim, Zania’s second-in-command. The massive warrior, his beard flecked with ash, stood to her right, an iron war axe in hand. Zania didn’t answer immediately, her sharp brown eyes scanning the horizon for movement. Her lithe figure, clad in bronze breastplate and flowing silken skirts dyed the same emerald as her cloak, cut a striking silhouette against the morning light. Despite the urgency of the moment, she radiated a calm command that spoke to years of seeing life and death play out like a cruel game.
And then she saw it, a ripple in the otherwise stagnant treeline beyond the field. The enemy—a fierce coalition of mountain tribes united under the silver banner of their enigmatic chieftain—was poised to strike again. They had laid siege for weeks, and now the city’s defenses were beginning to fracture. Behind Zania, the people of Salemis whispered of betrayal, of conspirators within the high council who had made promises to the chieftain in exchange for power.
A distant memory flickered between the chaos of the present—a darkened chamber filled with the hiss of torchlight. Zania had overheard the whispers of greed two weeks ago, moments before bile rose in her throat. She had cornered Councilman Ghoras in that chamber, his fat fingers slick with wine as he swore he had no part in the plot. But the falcon’s feathers lay unmistakably at his feet—a sign her brother had left before he'd vanished into the night. Ghoras lived… for now.
The Apprentice and The Ghost
“Hells, they’ve spotted us!” someone barked down below. Zania’s mind snapped back as she raised her scimitar high, signaling the archers to prepare. Her arm muscles flexed, but her stance was graceful—the training of her late father evident in every movement. She had been just a child when the mighty Lord Arvid had shown her how to wield a blade. He was gone now, his blood staining the stones of this very port decades ago during another siege. That day had shaped her, forged her into the commander she had become.
Another voice rang through her mind, this one softer. “The falcon only whispers when it knows something others do not," her brother had once said, just before slipping a gold medallion bearing the falcon crest into her hand. The medallion now rested snugly around the leather strap of her gauntlet, a constant reminder of the family she had lost and the loyalty her city demanded. Though her brother had disappeared, leaving only cryptic signs behind, Zania felt certain he roamed these war-torn lands yet, watching.
The whistle of incoming arrows snapped her focus again. “Shields!” she commanded, her voice slicing through the noise. Her soldiers obeyed in unison, raising wooden shields with bronze plating as a rain of arrows fell upon them. The sound of wood splintering and men screaming erupted around her. Zania’s heart pounded, but she held the line.
The falcons embroidered on the clasp of her cloak glinted like two knowing eyes.
The Enemy Reveals Itself
Hours later, the sun hung high, glowering down as Salemis continued to bleed. Zania had fought at the gate beside her soldiers, her scimitar flashing silver and red, until her arm throbbed with exertion. Finally, the enemy pulled back—but not before the unmistakable, regal figure of their chieftain appeared at the edge of the treeline.
Zania’s lips curled into a sneer as she watched the chieftain call his troops to regroup. He was tall, with raven-black hair that fell to his shoulders in intricate braids. His silver armor gleamed, inscribed with symbols she could not decipher. He raised a hand toward her, strange golden eyes meeting hers across the field. It was as though he dared her to charge.
“The ghost of the battlefield,” Ralim muttered as he limped to her side. “That’s what they call him. Not a single city has resisted his siege in five years.”
“They haven’t faced me,” Zania replied coolly, though her blood was boiling. This man, whoever he was, had become a myth—a curse whispered by terrified borderlands mothers to make children behave. The way he looked at her now, with no fear, no respect, made her more resolute.
The falcon medallion resting on her gauntlet grew warm suddenly. It shouldn’t have been possible—there was no heat emanating from it earlier, yet her skin burned beneath the leather. For a brief moment, her eyes darted to the horizon again, seeking a glimpse of her brother. The treeline held its breath, giving her nothing but shadows.
Ralim tugged her arm. “We can’t hold another assault. The men grow weary, even now. We—what is that?”
A low rumble rolled across the field. It grew louder, deeper. The enemy troops stirred uneasily as the ground beneath them trembled. And then, from the east, came an enormous black-winged creature, its wingspan blotting out the sun.
The falcon—not a bird, but a monstrous, otherworldly beast sculpted from ash and fire—plunged down toward the enemy. Its screech rattled skulls and sent metallic notes rippling through the air. Zania didn’t know if this was some divine intervention or something darker unleashed, but every part of her recognized the sigil. It was her family’s crest. Her birthright.
A grim smile carved its way across her face.
The Final Gamble
Zania saw the hesitation in the chieftain’s ranks as his warriors began to falter, shielding their faces from the falcon’s searing light. She took her chance.
“Soldiers!” she roared, raising her scimitar high, its steel crackling as though kissed by flame. “For Salemis! For freedom!”
Her troops surged forward, their exhaustion burned away by the sight of the monstrous falcon. The tide of battle turned. Still, Zania’s mind burned with questions. Had her brother unleashed this apocalyptic marvel? Had she unwittingly called on forces she didn’t understand by clutching the medallion too tightly? Or was this a divine reckoning sent to aid a righteous warrior?
No matter. As she led the charge, scimitar flashing, the cries of her enemies drowned beneath the falcon’s otherworldly scream, Zania vowed to uncover the truth. Beyond the chaos of the battlefield lay answers, and she would find them—if she lived through the day.
The sun dipped lower, heavy with the weight of Zania’s resolve. And somewhere amid the smoke and blood, the falcon whispered once more.
“You are not finished yet.”
Genre: Dark Fantasy / Historical Fiction
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