Why was it all such a blur?

All the memories were there, she could see them. The voices spoke like they were underwater, the visions themselves, flickering in a darkness smeared like ink or dust. But she could see them. It was like she was clinging to the few frail threads of a dream, her only proof of their existence the fact that she was sitting in the back of a beautifully decorated black and gold carriage. Armor held her back straight, the breastplate far more ornamental than practical. It would serve its purpose, of course, but its decor and its weight was by no means meant for battle. It covered only her breast, or- lack of, truly, but the metal curled to guard her ribs, and from there, chainmail guarded her stomach.

She barely remembered being fitted for it.

She barely remembered half the damned trek to Lamore. And yet here she was.

A day and a half of fuzziness had brought her to this point. Behind her carriage stood her rows upon rows of armored soldiers, helms pulled, forward facing, ready for command. Ana dreaded the sight. It turned her stomach, but the blurriness that clouded the edges of her vision had begun to calm some time ago. What had caused it, she wondered? Nerves of having accepted this damned task, no doubt, but her trek down wasn’t all wasted, no. With the fog of her mind sweeping aside the farther she got from her “father” in Azare, she’d begun to realize that his method was not the method.

He wanted them dealt with, and as such, Anhalia would show him how to deal with unrest like an Amaloran. Like someone true to their country.

Bitterness slicked her tongue like bile waiting to rise as she slid from the seat of her carriage. She was tall, but still had to hop down, dust clouding with the impact of her body. A hand rested absent on the hilt of a shortsword at her waist. One which she knew how to use, but dreaded the thought of needing to.

Her black hair was swept across her face with a cool breeze, dust catching in the strands to coat it. She should have had it up, but what was the point? She didn’t intend to fight a battle. She swept it all aside, over her shoulders so it could billow behind her rather than in her way. With that same hand, she signaled her soldiers to stay put in their places while starting her way to the town entrance.

It wasn’t much.

There was an old archway, it’s sign at one point vibrantly painted but now time and sand had etched away the color to make the Amaloran words for ‘Welcome to Lamore’ barely visible. It was attached to a part of a fence set up entirely for decor as it didn’t extend more than a few feet on either side.

Sand skittered across the packed pathway with each breath of wind that dulled Amalar’s stifling heat. It was odd to hear that sound. Azare was always far too busy for something so menial to be heard. The cobbled brown streets were well kept enough that there was hardly enough sand inside to make such an impactful noise, at least deeper in. But here, it was silent…

Anyone that had been outside had rushed into homes almost immediately. Those that had missed the memo took one look at her and the intricate black and gold emblem etched onto her breastplate and joined them as she stood in the middle of the path.

It was hardly a legion she had with her, and yet she could see eyes peeking out of curtain covered windows, fear stricken, and cast in the direction of her soldiers.

There was no one left to ask for the Peacekeeper. They’d all hidden without a word to her, but as she stepped forward to begin seeking out anything that may imply a leader, she heard the sound of a door latch closed. Lightning gaze flicked up to note a form standing on the far end of the path atop a small stairway. Between them sat a fountain, it’s water green and still, no longer flowing, but somehow beautiful nonetheless.

A few beats of silence passed between them before Anhalia’s impatience got the best of her. “I’ve come to speak to the Peacekeeper.”

“She’s not available,” he replied. His gaze flicked up to the soldiers he could see passed the town entrance. “Why have you and your soldiers come here?”

Her jaw clenched at the question. They were her soldiers, and she referred to them as such, but she hated the thought that she would be viewed by others as the leader of the force that would bring them their deaths. She didn’t want that.

“I have only come to talk,” she said.

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“We aren’t fools. We know that Anamir isn’t --”

“I am not Anamir’s pawn,” she interrupted, grimacing at the implication whether it had been made intentionally or not.

Another beat of silence passed, and she watched his eyes narrow. “Then who are you?”

“Do you speak for the Peacekeeper?” Ana made a vague motion to the door at his back, and he hesitated, head tilting back some before he took in a breath and nodded. “Then take me inside and let us speak.”

His hesitance did not fade in the least. His wary gaze kept on her, more silence laying between them, this one filled with tense contemplation. Then the tenseness of his shoulders drooped, and he waved a hand for her to follow. Circling the fountain, she did as told.

She kicked her boots free of sand on the step, and past the threshold, she slipped them off and set them, as well as her unlatched swordbelt aside.

The young man held his hands at his front, anxiety bringing him to pick his nails as he watched her. Despite the fear, he gave her a gentle nod of acceptance when she showed such a small, common kindness. In a way, it irked her, that he would think her such an awful person she wouldn’t even heed common courtesy. But what should she have expected? This invasion was not the first. But it would be the first to be won in the way Amalar desired every conflict to be handled.

He led her inward, past the small entry. The home itself was far from lavish, but it was larger than the others she’d passed. The boards beneath her feet were thick, hollow on the other side, as it stood upon reinforced stilts. A thin rug ran from the door, through the entry, and into the living area that he gestured for her to have a seat in.

As she complied, settling on a rather garish couch, she answered the question he had asked moments prior: “My name is Anhalia Zeilenka.”

A sense of wrong panged in the back of her head, and just as she began to shove it aside, the young man narrowed his sand-brown eyes at her. “Zeilenka,” he replied. “Are you sure Kynev doesn’t come after that?”

Her jaw clenched once more, hands tensing to fists.

“It does,” she said. “To everyone but me. He is not my father.”

“Is that why you didn’t raid the town immediately?” There was a certain undertone to the question that said his thought wasn’t quite on the same track as her reason. “Because you want to rebel against your father?”

Promising as that sounded, she grimaced. “You make it sound like I’m just some hateful teenager.”

An expression graced his visage that asked a question his mouth bit back. She was glad for it, her annoyance already on a rise to a point she may have snapped at him otherwise.

“He’s put me in charge of this company, sending me here to get rid of the Peacekeeper. But that,” her lip curled with disgust, “isn’t how Amalar works. I don’t want to ‘get rid’ of anyone.”

“Then what do you suggest as a solution?”

Her mouth opened, but any words that tried to come forth were cut short by a sharp pain behind her eyes. A gasp left her, unintentional, and while she would have dreaded the sound of weakness leaving her any other time, she was far too distracted by the needles in her mind to care. Her palms shot up, pressing her eyes closed and trying to rub the pain out to no avail.

The sounds of movement were muffled beside her, the only thing noticeable was the warm touch of the young man’s fingertips against her wrist.

“Are you okay?”

Underwater again…

She growled into her hands, but a piercing scream ripped her attention toward the door- toward the town.

In a quick succession, crashes, breaks, clangs of metal, shouts, and cries all began to rise and mix into a dreadful din that pressed her chest.

The young man hurried to his feet, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back probably too harshly. “No,” she said. “Get out of here. Run- tell your Peacekeeper to hide.”

Sharpness in her head lurched her forward, dizzying her steps, and a hand went without thought to the blade that was supposed to be at her hip. She caught herself a moment too late, relieved by the courtesy that left her weapon at the door.

Fear-widened honey brown eyes flicked to the upper level of the house, and as Ana watched him, the realization dawned that his Peacekeeper was here. Panic pressed her chest, but she shoved it down and pulled him to look at her. “Get her out. Run.”

His desires were clear in his eyes- the mix that said he didn’t want to, but he did, and before he could make a decision that defied her, she shoved him further into the house, then, in a full sprint, shot to the front to grab her boots and, more reluctantly, her weapon.

The cacophony of battle on the other side of the door sickened her, and part of her wondered if she should run too. If she should keep this door closed and just run, not concern herself with this lot and try to save the next.

But even her subconscious knew she couldn’t do that.

She pulled the door open, relieved to find the needling pain had momentarily subsided so she could stick the landing after launching off the stairs and into the dirt. Her blade slicked free of its sheath, and her breathing shallowed at the sight of the unfurled chaos. For every villager there were twenty of her soldiers- they stood no chance and the damage was so quick to be done that even if she had the power to stop it, she wasn’t sure it would have been enough.

Muddled commands left her only to fall upon the deaf ears of blank-eyed soldiers. The moment she’d shouted the first, that sharp stabbing reemerged in the back of her head, but that merely made her stumble before continuing her orders. They heard, she knew, they just didn’t care. Her screams and demands were cut to a sharp halt as a blunter pain forced her to the ground, clouding her with a darkness she tried to fight only to be consumed a second later.