A tall man with long dark hair sat at a busy restaurant overlooking a bustling market street. He was intently sifting through a book, a curiously tiny book that was around the size of a notepad and as about as thick as one too. A gentle breeze brushed against his face, and he looked up, seemingly pulled out of his personal fantasy. The night was wonderful. With a gorgeous full moon that illuminated the vast night sky, and the incredible clarity of millions of stars that studded the black veil, one could spend the entire night staring into space. Below him, the sprawling market dotted his entire vision, as far as the eye could see. Amongst the zig-zag of clustered streets that were born out of immediate necessity rather than order, people went about their business, stopping at one of the thousands of pop-up stalls that lined either side of the streets. Bright, colourful signs were rather dangerously propped up above the stalls, illuminated by the string of hanging lights that were lined across the street, in a charmingly imprecise manner.

This night was particularly busy, with throngs of people making their way through the market. The smell of delicious frying meat, the delighted screams of little children running through the lit-up alleyways, and the sight of vivid linen fabrics blending into one another all morphed into a scene that entranced the senses. It wasn't for everyone of course. Not everyone enjoyed the overwhelming smell of spices in the air or particularly liked being shoulder to shoulder with strangers at a market, but the man with dark hair reveled in it, believing that it was a sign of humanity that must be enjoyed. The cacophony of voices rose up through the atmosphere, as stall owners advertised their products in quick, witty rhymes. Explosions of raucous laughter erupted as groups of friends drank the night away at the roadside pubs that populated the market. The man with dark hair sighed in contentment.

Suddenly, a commotion below drew his attention. Standing up to lean over the balcony, he tried to get a better look. The street underneath the jutting balcony that he was situated in was throbbing with people. Amongst the tapestry of colours, two figures stood out to him. A portly man with a pale complexion was standing in front of a produce stall, angrily pointing his finger at the frightened-looking shop-keeper who was trying his best to diffuse the situation. With sweat dripping down his pasty cheeks, the man started raising his voice, with spit flying out of his mouth. It was clear this man was intoxicated.

" YOU ARE TRYING TO SCAM!" he was slurring, "SCAM...do you know what that means?"

The man with dark hair recognized the language the large man was speaking. Indirrith. His eyes darkened, his hands white as he gripped the balcony. A quiet hum of malevolent rage simmered in his heart. The shopkeeper, who until this point had been attempting to calm the large man down, now pointed at the sign next to him, displaying the list of prices of the produce. The shopkeeper was an elderly man, frail in stature, but had a pleasant air about him. However, the friendliness he exuded when talking to his customers was now replaced with fear. Nervously fidgeting and itching his neck, he was desperately trying to prove that he was, in fact, not scamming this man.

"NO! TOO MUCH!" the large man bellowed. "T-O-O M-U-C-H," he spelled out condescendingly, vitriol dripping from his tongue.

The shopkeeper, in a mix of broken Indirrith and Kotha, his mother tongue, started pleading with the man to leave "Just go," he exclaimed, "Go other shop!".

Drenched in sweat, the Indirrith man hastily pulled out a handkerchief and started patting his face, his wispy blond hair matted against his forehead. Picking up one of the oranges that sat in the cardboard boxes that sat in rows, the only barrier between the angry Indirrith man and the Koth shopkeeper, he waved it in front of the shopkeeper's face.

"You people are something else" he sneered. "You're lucky we even come to this underdeveloped dump. We don't try and scam visitors in our country!"

The commotion had now drawn the attention of other people. A group had now formed around the Indirral man, with many Koth people disapprovingly glaring at this man's racist tirade.

"What?" he spat, looking at the crowd forming around him "What are you looking at? This man was trying to take my hard-earned money!"

A touch of anxiety was now present in his voice, as the angry stares and the sounds of rising Koth outrage were now sobering this man up, and the idea that he was one amongst a plethora of locals was not a comforting thought. The shopkeeper's nervous disposition grew further. While the support of his countrymen was greatly appreciated, a bloodbath was not what he wanted. That would be bad for business.

"Please, no fighting," the shopkeeper cried, directed at the Indirrith man. "Go home."

The man with dark hair now had one hand on his belt, gripping a leather pouch. This could get violent at any moment, he thought. "I could curb this early, get that Indirrith scum away from there. Maybe give him a Koth welcome."

Before he could do anything, a large horn blew. It was a deafening roar, emanating from behind the crowd. People clamped their hands over their ears as the roar seemed to ripple through the masses that had gathered. A brawny man, with light brown skin and an intimidating presence pushed through the crowd. Bare-chested, with a flowing white cotton cloth adorned with golden spirals wrapped around his legs, he stood a head taller than everyone else. In one hand, he held a gracefully curved blade, with a wooden hilt carved intricately. In the other, he held a metal horn, one which he just used to separate the crowd. His intimidating presence, and subservience with which the crowd reacted to him - he was employed to keep the peace.

"What's happening here?" he barked towards the shopkeeper in Kotha, not taking his eyes off the Indirrith man.

"This man is drunk and belligerent" the shopkeeper stuttered, "He is saying I'm overcharging him for these fruits, but these are the prices listed here." Words kept pouring out of the man, his fear for the bare-chested man palpable. "I am an honest businessman. I would never cheat a customer, especially not a foreigner. This is disgrace-"

"Silence." The guard ordered.

The shopkeeper stopped mid-sentence, and stared down at his feet, embarrassed that he had spoken too much.

"You." The guard spoke, in fluent Indirrith. "Why are you harassing this man?" He had pointed his sword at the drunk foreigner as a means to gesture effectively, but the pasty man recoiled, as the glistening blade looked ever-threatening.

"No, you see" the Indirrith man started blubbering. "I simply wanted a fair price. I didn't mean to cause any harm." he started to twitch, a pathetic smile creeping across his face, a pointless attempt to diffuse the tension.

The guard's unblinking stare betrayed no visible emotion. His dark eyes scrutinizing the foreigners presence, it was impossible to see the vitriol that hid within.

"Extend your tongue, pale man" the guard ordered. The crowd murmured in confusion. Could this be a mistranslation? Most Koth locals were familiar with a little bit of Indirrith, its influence spanning the entire world, but this seemed beyond their comprehension. The Indirrith man looked the most confused, his blubbering getting worse.

"M..my tongue?" he sniveled. "Surely you mean something else, good man. Did you mean to use a different word?"

"No. I know what a tongue is. Extend it."

"S..sir, this is most unusual," he whimpered. "I'll just make my way home. No fuss, I promi -"

Before the Indirrith man could finish his sentence, the guard dropped the metal horn and grabbed the pale man's face. Pulling it closer to him, he shoved his fingers in the man's mouth, pulling out his tongue. The large man started resisting, screaming out words that were now indecipherable. His hands gripping the guards, he was trying to pull away in desperation.

"Your crime is speaking too loud in a country that is not yours" the guard ruled, coldly. "Therefore, your punishment is making sure you can never speak too loud again." Lifting his sword, he placed the sharp blade against the Indirrith man's tongue. Tears were flowing from his eyes, his hands gripped tight around the guard's huge wrist.

Just as he was about to slice it off, the man with dark hair exclaimed, "Prabak! Stop that now!" good-naturedly.

The guard - Prabak - turned towards the balcony, where the man with dark hair was now resting, his elbows against the railing. "Malanda, sir" the guard nodded. At once, the guard let go of the Indirrith man's tongue, and pushed his face away roughly, causing the man to lose his balance and hit the ground hard.

"Come on, Prabak" Malanda laughed heartily in Indirrith. "This isn't how we dispense justice in Koth! Let the fat man go, he's just another drunk tourist."

"And let's get him later," Malanda thought to himself, malevolently. Prabak was a good man, but he didn't hide his frustration for the Indirrith too well. If news spread that a Koth guard tortured an Indirrith tourist in public, that would mean the end of everything he had worked for.

"Prabak, get up here," Malanda ordered this time in Kotha. "Where's Malaika? Late as usual?"

"Don't know, sir" the guard replied, wiping his hand against his cloth.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I told you, you don't have to call me sir" Malanda sighed, exasperated.

"Sorry sir... I mean sorry."

"Alright, alright now get up here quickly" Malanda gestured.

Throughout this exchange, the foreigner had stood himself up from the ground and began rushing back to his accommodation, pale as a ghost, pushing past throngs of Koth people. Malanda stared at him as he stumbled, narrowing his eyes. "You won't get away so easy."

***

A few minutes later, the market was back to its usual chaos as the crowd dissipated, disappointed that a momentary action had ended so plainly. It's not that Koth people reveled in violence, in fact, peaceful de-escalation has always been a part of their culture. It had more to do with the current tensions between the two nations. With growing resistance towards Indirrel's control over the island nation of Koth, the locals were growing weary of new Indirrith policies, laws, and media that were now flooding the border. Becoming a tourist nation was not what the people signed up for, yet it was decided by the Indirrith royalty, without much resistance from the wholly incompetent Koth government.

Malanda had now turned back to his table, and flipped his book open. Revolutions and Empires: Underground Warfare of Sool, the title read, in blocky red font, adorned with an imprint of a purple star. The author, Zaer Farzah, was a man that Malanda greatly respected, a martyred revolutionary who led the nation of Sool to independence against the imperialist forces of Keregor over a 100 years ago. After re-reading the same line a few times, Malanda shut the book and placed it down on the table, distracted by swirling thoughts. He picked up the cup of tea that had been sitting for over an hour and took a sip. Cold tea was quite unpleasant. As he was about to beckon a waiter and order another cup, he heard Prabak climb up the stairs, the foreboding, thumping steps of the large man grabbing everyone's attention. Prabak peaked his around the doorframe, scanning the room, spotting Malanda sitting in the back corner.

Malanda was a striking man in his early thirties. He stood at over six feet, with a toned frame and the same brown skin that was common to Koth locals. He had a long, slender face with playful eyes and a wide glistening smile that gave him a look of youthful innocence that people were attracted to. His most striking feature, however, was the long, thick mustache on his face that swirled at the end. This was a common look for the Koth locals over 200 years ago, but Malanda had a taste for history, so he chose to admire his ancestry with it.

"You took your time!" Malanda teased, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Sorry, sir" Prabak replied, apologetically. "I ran into Malaika ma'am in the lobby. She said she would be here in a few moments."

"I'm only joking, Prabak" Malanda groaned. "Now sit down and stop calling me sir."

Prabak nodded stiffly, grabbing a chair and sitting himself down, tall and straight. He almost looked uncomfortable. After a few moments of silence of Prabak watching Malanda stare out into the market, seemingly lost in thought, he began speaking.

"We have news from Indirrel, sir"

"Anything major?" Malanda replied, still looking out into the horizon.

"No changes in the movements of Queen Sigardria and Prince Malcolm at the moment." After a thoughtful pause and a quick drawn breath, Prabak continued. "Um, something unusual has happened...sir."

Glancing back at Prabak, Malanda lifted his eyebrow. "Well, go on."

"As you very well know, Prince Richard left on a trip on his sky-ship to the Eastern Reaches two nights ago, sir" Prabak began.

"Yes of course. The spoilt little brat loves taking his extended vacations to other parts of the world to ogle at the locals." Malanda spat venomously.

"Yes..yes" Prabak continued. "My operatives in Indirrel have heard that something happened to his ship on the way back."

"Really?" Malanda turned towards Prabak, now intently listening to the conversation.

"Sir, we don't know whether it was an accident or...something else, but it is reported that Prince Richard has fallen off the ship...into the Night Forest" Prabak concluded.

"The Night Forest?" Mandala exclaimed. After a few moments of silence, Malanda burst out laughing. It was loud and hearty, startling the other diners in the restaurant. Apologizing for the commotion, Malanda turned back to Prabak.

"Well, there's no way he survived the fall. Even if he did, the Night Forest would devour his soft little body in no time." Malanda sighed contentedly. "That royal idiot. A disappointment to his family, a joke in his own nation, and now dead in the most humiliating way possible. No matter, he was never important to our plans. Dead or alive, he's of no use to us." Malanda finished.

"Understood, sir" Prabak replied, unaffected and cold. Another hesitant pause. "Sir...I do have a query."

"Yes?" Malanda muttered, once again lost in his own world, a million miles away.

"Did...we have anything to do with it?" Prabak continued, lowering his tone to a whisper.

"With what? With Richard?" Malanda replied, incredulously.

"Sorry for assuming, sir" Prabak let go of the thought almost immediately, chastising himself for even considering such a thing.

"No it's okay" Malanda continued, in a comforting tone. "Not with this one Prabak. Unless it was an accident, which I highly doubt - it sounds like there are other parties targeting the royal family," Malanda scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Why they would target Richard? I'm not really sure about that. Either way, it's of no concern to us."

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, the boys are here!" a shrill voice exclaimed from the other side of the room. Both Prabak and Malanda whipped their heads to the entrance, where a woman stood with her arms on her hips.

"Malaika!" Malanda exclaimed. "Late once again. You know I could be doing better things with my time than sitting here waiting around for you." With a tinge of annoyance in his voice and an exasperated look in his eyes, he continued. "45 minutes! 45 minutes I've been waiting."

Malaika walked towards their table, a wide grin on her face. She knew how to rile Malanda up more than anybody else. Malaika was a tall woman by Koth standards, standing at 5'10. To go with her height, she had a powerful frame, rigorously built from years of intensive close combat training with her father. Unlike Malanda, who was extensively trained in the use of All-Shimmer for most of his life, Malaika relied on strategic and physical prowess to gain influence. She was a beautiful woman with long dark hair woven into intricate braids, divided into multiple sections, and coiled into decorative knots. She had sharp eyes, shaded with light eyeshadow, and a fierce smile of unparalleled confidence and strength.

She wore a loose wrapped skirt, in a beautiful shade of red, with patterns of golden swirls reflecting against the moody lights of the restaurant. Her blouse matched the skirt, made of breathable fabrics that suited the muggy tropical weather Koth experienced throughout the year. She pulled a chair out roughly and bounced on it, leaning back with a relaxed sigh. Before Malanda could start speaking, she raised her arm.

"Waiter! Three rounds of Artaka." she called out.

"Really classy," Malanda muttered, rolling his eyes. Artaka was an alcoholic beverage indigenous to Koth, made illegal by the government due to its exorbitantly high alcohol content and dangerous side effects. It was extracted from local Pulai trees and distilled underground, away from the prying eyes of law enforcement. Most places still sold it under the counter, you just had to know how to ask.

"Malaika, concentrate." Malanda scolded. "How was your trip to Sool?"

Malaika stretched her arms and yawned. "Sool was good. Beautiful as usual. The sky-ship back was awful. We ran into some problems with Gorathi raiders."

"Gorathi raiders? Sounds like King Relan hasn't managed to fix that problem yet." Malanda responded, mockingly.

"Well, they weren't too much of a threat. Just added time to the trip. Which is why I'm late!" Malaika stared daggers at Malanda, fist on the table.

"Alright, alright sorry." Malanda conceded. "I didn't know you were so preoccupied. Get to the meat of it. Did you speak to Furhazin?"

"That's the thing, Malanda." Malaika's tone suddenly shifted. She seemed morose, and it seemed like a crack in her confidence was forming, with fear pouring out.

"Furhazin retired".

"Retired??" Malanda exclaimed. "He came into power two years ago! He's not even 40! What did he have to say?"

"He wouldn't engage with me. He seemed withdrawn and afraid." Malaika continued. "He kept saying that our revolution wasn't worth it and to just leave things alone."

"His father led a revolution that saved his entire country. How could he say that?" Malanda replied, violently slamming his fist onto the table, toppling the cold cup of tea.

"Think, Malanda." Malaika cried, trying to temper Malanda's emotions. "I think that Queen Sigardria got to him. In fact, I heard from the Sool council that Prince Malcolm had just been there for a friendly visit just a few days prior. Do you think that's a coincidence? They're threatening him."

Malanda stood up abruptly and turned towards the balcony, his hands gripping the railing once again. He looked out into the sky, staring at the full moon. It seemed to be staring back. Judging him.

He turned to Prabak. "Your operatives said that there was no movement in the royal family. Clearly, that's not true."

Prabak looked down, ashamed of himself. "I...I don't know, sir. He must've gotten away somehow. Or maybe he knows who our operatives are."

"They're more cunning than we thought." Malanda sighed. "No matter. We have time. We can still bring Furazhin to our side."

"Malanda, is this going to work?" Malaika had now stood up as well, standing alongside him.

"Remember what Father lived and died for, Malaika" Malanda replied gently. "We have no choice. We have to fight."

Malaika silently nodded. They spent a few moments looking down at the nation they loved so much. Its people. Its culture. It was all meant to be preserved. To them, Indirrith's influence was rotting everything they had stood for, and they aimed to put an end to it. They would do it together. If it had to get violent, so be it.

A waiter stood by the table, holding a tray with 3 shot glasses filled to the brim with a clear liquid. Malanda turned back to the waiter and Prabak, his face visibly softening.

"Anyways, let's celebrate your return!" Malanda joyfully exclaimed, thumping her on the back.

"Time to party the night away, right Prabak?" Malaika teased.

"Yes, ma'am," Prabak replied flatly.

The three revolutionaries grabbed their glasses and swung their heads backs to take a swig, wincing as the burning liquid crashed down their throats. Malanda sputtered, coughing while he gripped his chest.

Malaika laughed out loud. "You've always been a wimp"

"As you say, ma'am" Malanda replied jokingly, winking at Prabak, who had downed his drink without a single emotion.

Malanda turned back to his city, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. A cool breeze lapped at his face, like waves of the sea against his feet. He smiled.

I will save you.