I felt dead inside. The weight of Murad’s death pressed down on me like an iron shroud. Every breath was a reminder of my failure, every heartbeat a painful echo of guilt. Sheherazade’s hand was still firmly gripping my arm, preventing me from inflicting further self-harm. Her touch was warm, almost burning, against my cold, bloodied skin.

“Your war has yet to start, Su,” she said softly, her voice filled with a mixture of empathy and determination.

“Leave me alone,” I muttered, my voice breaking. “I can’t protect anyone. I’m too weak.”

Sheherazade’s grip tightened, and without warning, she slapped me across the face. “All you think about is how weak you are!” she screamed. “Do you ever think about the Amazighs? About Mervan? About your family?”

Her words stung, but my anger flared in response. “What the hell do you know about me?” I shouted back. “You don’t know what I’ve lost. My home, my family, everything!”

Sheherazade’s eyes blazed with golden light. “I know much more than you think,” she said, her voice eerily calm now.

“What?” I demanded, confusion and anger swirling within me.

Sheherazade stepped back, and golden Sutra runes began to glow around her. The light was mesmerizing, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She moved closer, her face inches from mine. “It’ll be better for you to see this,” she said softly, pressing her forehead against mine.

A rush of images and emotions overwhelmed me. I found myself on a desolate battlefield, the sky darkened by thick, ominous clouds. The air was heavy with the acrid stench of burning flesh and the metallic tang of blood. The ground beneath my feet was slick with gore, making every step a struggle as I waded through the carnage. Bodies were strewn everywhere, some twisted in grotesque poses of agony, others half-buried under piles of rubble and debris.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant, eerie whisper of the wind and the occasional, sickening squelch as I stepped on the remains of the fallen. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of my helplessness. I looked around frantically, searching for any sign of life.

My eyes widened in horror as I saw Mervan’s lifeless body sprawled on the ground, his eyes staring vacantly at the sky. His small frame was covered in dirt and blood, a sight that tore at my soul. I wanted to scream, to reach out and shake him, but my voice was trapped in my throat, and my limbs felt like lead.

I stumbled forward, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and nearly tripped over the bodies of my twin siblings, Taqian and Saqian. They lay side by side, their hands still clasped together as if in their final moments they had sought comfort in each other. Their faces were pale and lifeless, their eyes closed in eternal rest. A sob escaped my lips as I fell to my knees beside them, the weight of my grief nearly crushing me.

I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling as I continued to walk through the nightmare. Each step was a new horror, a fresh wave of despair. The bodies seemed endless, a sea of death that stretched out before me. And then I saw her. Hana. My sister, the one who had always been there for me, who had taken on the role of mother after ours had passed. She lay crumpled on the ground, her body broken and bloodied. Her eyes were closed, and a look of peace had settled on her face, a stark contrast to the chaos around her.

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“No... no, no, no...” I whispered, my voice cracking as I sank to the ground beside her. I reached out a trembling hand, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She felt cold, so cold, and the reality of her death hit me like a physical blow. I had failed them all. My family, my friends, everyone I cared about. They were all gone, and I was powerless to stop it.

As I knelt there, paralyzed by grief, a movement caught my eye. I looked up to see Sheherazade standing a few feet away, tears streaming down her face. Her gaze was fixed on two figures in the distance, their forms blurred and indistinct, but the aura of power and menace they exuded was unmistakable. They were monsters, warriors of unparalleled strength, and they were responsible for this slaughter.

The vision began to fade, the horrific scene dissolving into darkness. I gasped for breath, snapping back to reality. Sheherazade was still there, but she looked feverish, her body trembling. “What’s happening to you?” I asked, panic rising in my voice. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, her breath labored. “Sharing visions using Sutra has a price,” she said between heavy breaths.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, feeling helpless.

“No,” she whispered. “But take me to Murad’s burial. It’s the least I can do for my people.”

My people. The words echoed in my mind. Was Sheherazade an Amazigh too? I carefully lifted her into my arms, ignoring the searing pain from my reopened wounds. Her body was hot to the touch, and I couldn’t help but wonder why she was going to such lengths to show me this vision. Who was she?

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

I kept walking, my thoughts a whirl of confusion and gratitude. I should be the one thanking her. She had shown me something profound, something that stirred a new resolve within me.

As we reached the burial site by the lake, I saw Mervan still crying, clutching his knees to his chest. Eldran turned to speak to me, but the moment he saw Sheherazade, he fell to one knee. “Princess...” he whispered, his voice filled with reverence.

I looked around in confusion as every Amazigh present dropped to one knee, paying their respects. I didn't understand what was happening. “Sheherazade, who are you?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“Put me down,” she requested softly.

I gently set her down, and she looked around with her golden eyes, melancholic and wise. “It's been a long while, Eldran,” she said.

Eldran rose slowly, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and relief. “Yes, Princess. I searched for you for years but couldn’t find you.”

Sheherazade cut him off with a wave of her hand. “We’ll speak of it later. For now, let us respect Mervan’s mourning.”

She approached Mervan gently. “Mervan,” she called softly.

He turned, his tear-streaked face showing confusion. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

Sheherazade knelt beside him, her expression gentle. “Go stand by Eldran,” she instructed. Mervan hesitated but did as she asked.

I moved closer to Eldran and Mervan, my body still aching but my mind sharp with curiosity and confusion. Sheherazade stood, facing the gathered Amazighs, Mervan, Eldran, and me.

“Murad was a proud Amazigh,” she began, her voice strong and clear. “He lived and died protecting his family. He was one of us, and he shall forever live in our hearts. Amazighs of Mehmoura, I, Sheherazade Mahraja, declare Murad as a fallen hero to be remembered.”

The name struck me like a bolt of lightning. Mahraja. She was from the fallen kingdom. My mind raced with questions, but they were interrupted as Sheherazade began to hum a beautiful, haunting melody. The tune filled the air with a sense of peace and reverence, a fitting tribute to Murad’s sacrifice.

Mervan’s sobs grew louder, and he turned to me, wrapping his small arms around my waist. “Su, I miss him so much,” he cried.

I knelt down, hugging his trembling body tightly. “I know, Mervan. I promise you, I will avenge your brother,” I swore, my voice firm with conviction.

As the ceremony ended, the Amazighs slowly began to disperse, their faces marked with grief but also a renewed sense of unity. Eldran approached me, his expression serious. “We should talk.”

I nodded, my mind swirling with questions but also with a newfound determination. Sheherazade’s vision, the respect she commanded, and the mystery of her identity all demanded answers. But those would have to wait. Kilian was still out there, and he would pay for what he had done.