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It’s as if the very atmosphere of Qapauma itself has been drawn into our tense standoff. Here I stand, a lone island in a sea of turmoil. I draw gazes sharper than the obsidian blades clutched by warriors beyond these walls. Nuqasiq, my grandmother and a matriarch in every sense, stands firm with eyes ablaze. Across from her, Achutli, the Arbiter—and, reluctantly, my father—is clad in the vibrant orange and red of the Tapeu beneath his ornate bronze armor. His stature is imposing, yet his eyes betray a noticeable momentary flicker of uncertainty towards me. Anqatil lurks in the shadows, waiting, watching, her ambition as transparent as the waters of Haqu Minsa.

Anqatil’s cold voice eventually breaks the long silence. “And who is this, dressed as a servant among us? Skulking in the shadows to avoid my gaze? A fitting guise for a rat sneaking through our city’s cracks. How very clever of you, Haesan.”

Nuqasiq steps forward, her presence commanding. “We stand on the brink of ruin, our city under siege, and all you can muster is pettiness? Scorn for old grievances and false prophecies?” Her gaze then softens as she turns towards me. “And you, child, have shown more mettle than many cloaked in finery.” She spits venom with those last words, glaring at Anqatil as they’re spoken.

Sneering, Anqatil can’t help but to add, “The idea that she,” she points a scornful finger at me, “could contribute anything of value is laughable. She should know her place.”

“This bores me,” Achutli declares, raising his voice. “Our city burns while we stand here locked in a silent battle of wills. This is neither the time nor the place for familial disputes or past grievances.” He turns to look out toward the battle that looms on the horizon. “Let us focus on the task at hand. We can settle our differences once the threat has been neutralized.”

Anqatil’s gaze is piercing, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. She’s baffled at how quickly Achutli is detaching himself from this engagement, almost incensed that he’s allowing me to live. Unable to let her disdain go unvoiced, she mutters, “If we survive this, justice for your treachery will not be forgotten.”

Whether she meant for me to hear this or not, I respond, “I didn’t expect to stand here, in the heart of our capital, under such circumstances.” My voice is steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within. “But here we are, bound by blood, duty, and the imminent threat at our gates.”

“Enough,” Achutli says, his gaze shifting from one face to the next. “We have a city to defend, lives to protect.” When his eyes meet mine, it’s evident that, though he has plenty to say to me, he chooses to bite his tongue. While there is much about the man to abhor, I can at least respect his ability to prioritize.

“Then it is decided,” Nuqasiq proclaims, seeking to put an abrupt end to this encounter. Turning to Achutli, she says, “May Iptanqa light your path, my son. And may the winds of Aqxilapu carry you to victory, for the sake of our people and the land that cradles us all. Return to us with honor.”

Emotionless, Achutli nods. Lifting his bronze sword toward the sky, he calls the attention of all nearby Tapeu warriors, and is quickly surrounded by a swarm of orange and red tunics. Sianchu lets out an impassioned yell, his gaze fixed adoringly on the ruler. It’s a devotion so fervent, it borders on the theatrical, nearly crossing into the realm of parody. After Achutli commands his men and women, they rush off to battle, to defeat the invaders once and for all.

Before following her ruler, however, Anqatil delivers a parting scowl to me. Her glare attempts to intimidate, but I stand tall, chin raised, not giving her the pleasure of seeing me cower to my torturer. When she turns her back to me to join the fray, I release the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding and collapse my shoulders.

Watching Achutli lead the Tapeu warriors into battle, Nuqasiq seems to vocalize my thoughts. “How he has amassed such loyalty is something I will never fathom.”

The dissonant sounds of battle jar us back to alertness, snapping us firmly into the present. Close by, the Tuatiu warrior, flanked by her Qantua allies, mounts a ferocious counterassault against the invaders. Terrifying sights of gray, ghastly beasts that tower full lengths above the warriors that fight them, are quickly overshadowed by the valiance of those defending the palace. Armed with nothing but mere torches and flame-tipped arrows, they turn the tide with each monster they fell. Once as fearsome as their guttural roars, the creatures now echo howls of agony as the fire consumes them.

An explosion as bright as the sun forces me to shield my eyes. An enormous ball of flame erupts at the wall, demolishing it immediately upon impact. Two more fiery orbs hurtle through the air like smoking stars crossing the night sky. They maliciously smash into the palace, tearing down the structure’s walls with the fury of a volcanic eruption, reducing them to rubble.

Emerging from the ash and debris by the front gates, figures in crimson robes stride onto the grounds. With their heads on a swivel, they search for something, or someone. Not wanting to discover what it is they seek, I clutch at Nuqasiq, urgently drawing her attention to the development.

“Queen Mother, we must seek shelter!” the alarmed palace guards shout to Nuqasiq. With eyes wide in panic, they search for any escape from the impending threat closing in on us.

“In the storage pits,” I state. “There are servants and warriors recovering from their wounds there. It’s underground, and the structure should maintain resistance to the impact of the collapsing buildings and walls around us.”

“There’s a look in your eyes that tells me you’re not intending to join,” Nuqasiq observes. She’s correct, of course. Having been trapped inside a throne room before, I felt helpless and useless. I can’t allow myself to be stagnant again—not when I could help defend the capital. Qapauma has many flaws, but the innocent people who call it ‘home’ deserve to be protected.

“I’ll take care of myself out here,” I attempt to assure her. “Standing idle isn’t an option when every fiber of my being compels me to act. This is where I must be, where my heart and duty lie.”

Nuqasiq takes a moment to consider this, then nods, a hint of pride in her smile grace the corners of her mouth. “Very well. That is a sound plan, regarding my protection, at least.” Then, to the palace guards surrounding her, she commands, “Well, you heard my granddaughter! Get me to the safety of the storage pits, at once!”

“Yachaman is recovering there,” I add. “Please, make sure she’s okay.” Nuqasiq nods reassuringly, or providing as much reassurance as one can in such a moment. Having the Queen Mother look over my friend gives me confidence, knowing she will be well tended to and won’t be overlooked.

Without further delay, they usher her toward the subterranean cache. As she departs, she gives me one long, solemn glance, before shifting her focus back to her escorted journey into the depths beneath the palace. I feel a lump form in my throat, but fight it back, knowing that I will see her soon—I have to believe that in order to be strong enough to part with her yet again.

The sorcerers march into the courtyard, raising their hands and unleashing a flurry of flames upon the warriors engaged in battle. They show no mercy, not even to their own zealots, as both Tapeu warriors and gray-clad cultists are set alight. They chant something incomprehensible, something sounding like another spoken language, something like the jarring Ulxa, with its hissed and stilted words.

Swords lay on the ground from fallen warriors, but I know I’m not strong enough, not capable enough, to hoist such a weapon. My efforts would be futile against the relentless attack of these sorcerers. No, I need to find another way.

Desperate for a more cunning solution, my gaze sweeps over the battleground. My mind races through every nook and cranny of the palace I’ve come to know. There has to be a way to catch these invaders unaware, and utilize the palace to our advantage.

Then the thought of the secret underground tunnels beneath the throne room flickers in my memory. Yes, that might give us a way to stealthily outflank these attackers! But where does the tunnel lead? Are there more beneath the palace? If only I knew where it led or if there were more…

My mind swirls with a dizzying array of thoughts, hoping to recall some clue. Then, the thought strikes me like an arrow: How did Onixem navigate her frequent escapes from the palace unnoticed? Does she know of the tunnels? It would explain the numerous times I’ve spotted her at the weaving chamber, conveniently close to the throne room, and then she’d suddenly disappear. Or how she seems to elude any guards monitoring her movements in and out of the palace. Could she know the pathways?

If Onixem has been using the tunnels to move undetected, then perhaps they can serve us just as well. I need to find her, to learn what she knows. Maybe this knowledge can turn our desperate defense into a surprise attack.

With no time to waste, I hurry to find Onixem. Debris and loose stone tumble around me. I swerve and dodge the combatants engaged in a brutal match of strength and ferocity. The dust kicked up by the fighters and falling stones makes it nearly impossible to find my way back to the palace. But I must persevere, not just to find Onixem, but to make sure she’s okay.

I barely find the mouth of the palace, its entry hindered by fallen pillars and destroyed structures. The walls of the hall have caved in and collapsed, forcing me to crawl and climb about the huge boulders littering the pathways. Splintered wooden supports that now spring up among the debris snag my robe, hindering my progress. I can’t afford to be delayed any further! With a great, determined tug, I rip it free, then sprint down the hall.

More booms rumble throughout the crumbling palace. More balls of flame must be striking the building. I don’t have much time to find Onixem, and as the thunderous drumming continues repeatedly, I begin to question whether this was a good idea, entering a structure that’s about to collapse at any moment.

As I explore the near ruins of the palace, my attention is drawn to a nearby storage chamber. The muffled commotion of some rustling and clamoring rise above the sounds of battle outside. I backtrack and discover that it’s a weapons cache, its walls lined with spears, halberds, shields, and swords. Uniforms in orange and red lay in heaps on the ground, and tools such as rope and torches are piled on top of tables. And there, in the dimly lit back corner of the chamber, is a familiar figure.

“Onixem, is that you?” I call out. In one swift motion, she rises and twists around, pointing the tip of a dagger at me.

“Haesan?” she asks, confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you had run off to find safety with the Queen Mother. It’s too dangerous for you in here.”

“What are you doing here?” I ignore her question, in a routine she and I seem to regularly find ourselves, inquiring about what machinations the other is up to this time.

She returns to a crouched position, her arms flailing about wildly, as if she’s gathering something. “I’m collecting supplies,” she responds with a grunt. “I need to get out of this cursed place. I need to find those two. They need to be stopped.”

My mind retraces the scenes from earlier, from inside the throne room. There, Onixem’s parents, Teqotlo and Aluxeqwel, performed malicious, gruesome deeds, slaughtering helpless nobles for some dark ritual. I assume that is whom Onixem speaks of, whom she hopes to stop. It’s not lost on me that she no longer addresses them as her family, detaching herself from them and seeing them only as an evil force that must be defeated.

More thunderous booms echo throughout the palace. More wails and cries of those being slain outside these walls. More destruction, more chaos, is happening. More time is being wasted.

“Onixem,” I say with urgency, “I need your assistance. There are sorcerers destroying the palace, and I believe if I can utilize the tunnels beneath this place, I can lead our warriors to a position to flank them and catch them by surprise. Do you know the tunnels of which I speak?”

“I don’t have time for that,” Onixem growls, grabbing a series of daggers and swords, finding their sheaths and strapping them to her body. “I need to find them and kill them—something I should’ve done long ago—before it’s too late.”

“You can have your revenge,” I say, cautiously approaching the ravenous girl. “But we need to protect the innocents before they’re slaughtered by these fanatics. You’ve been able to escape the palace undetected—I know this. You must know where the tunnels lead. Just tell me where they are, and you can return to your supply gathering.”

Onixem is unresponsive to my plead for her help. She carries on with her task, giving me a cold shoulder as she collects an arsenal of weapons—arguably more than any one person could need.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Look,” I charge, “stopping the cultists now could prevent further atrocities, the same such atrocities your parents inflicted upon innocent lives. Helping me now might offer a more strategic approach to dealing with your parents later. Your knowledge of the tunnels can help the survival of Qapauma.”

“Why should I care about that?” Onixem yells, emphatically slamming the sword down. “Why should I care about a city that doesn’t care about me?”

I step closer, then gently place a hand on her shoulder. “Because this city is more than the stone that make up its walls. I share your feelings about not being wanted by this city—more than you know. But it’s about the people within who have suffered, who have lost, yet still dare to hope for a better tomorrow. It’s about fighting because it’s the right thing to do. And because, deep down, I believe you care—more than you’re willing to admit right now.”

I take a breath, my gaze locking with Onixem’s. “Your knowledge of these tunnels can provide a lifeline for those of us fighting out there. It’s a chance to outsmart those who seek to destroy what little we have left. We need you, and not just for the tunnels, but for who you are—a fighter, a survivor, one of us.

“Your parents… they made their choice. But here, now, you have the chance to make yours. Help us save Qapauma, and perhaps in doing so, you’ll find a grateful city that does care about you, a place you can call home.”

She scowls, as if fighting back the emotions welling up inside of her. Her fists clench and unclench at her sides, betraying the inner turmoil she tries to mask. For a moment, the harsh exterior cracks, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability she seldom allows others to see. Onixem’s gaze darts away, perhaps afraid of what it might reveal if it lingers on me for too long.

“The tunnels aren’t safe,” she finally says, briefly glancing at me. “Well, not all of them. Some contain traps.” Onixem returns to compiling an assortment of weapons, as if her statement is enough. When pressed further, she explains, “They were built so the ruler could escape while ensnaring those who may be chasing him. Some of the tunnels have traps, ultimately to keep out unsuspecting intruders. Watch the floors for any loose stone tiles or trip wires—those will release the traps. Bring a torch to locate them, step around or over them, and you’ll live.”

She stops for a moment, then, looking over her shoulder, says, “In the gardens, across from the loom chamber where we met. It’s hidden by some overgrown foliage, but there’s a stone slab. It looks heavy, but with a slight nudge, anyone can shift it open. It leads to a secluded area within the courtyard on the palace grounds. You should be able to outflank the enemy that way.”

Onixem scoops up a large sack as its contents clatter about inside. “I can’t go with you. I need to find Aluxeqwel and Teqotlo, and find out if they’ve done anything to my brother, if he’s still alive. It’s too important to me. But you’ve shown you’re stubborn and resilient. I’m sure you’ll manage on your own.” With a determined look, she nods. Before I can thank her, she takes off down the hall and into the ruckus.

The gardens appear unrecognizable upon my arrival. Large chunks of stone wall from the surrounding buildings have crumbled into the courtyard, crushing the once vibrant exotic flora that thrived in this place. With so many boulders scattered about, I start to doubt whether I’ll be able to locate the stone slab of which Onixem had told me. Yet I resolve that it must be done, in order to protect this revered symbol of Pachil’s unity.

I scale the tremendous rocks, straining to pull myself over the rugged terrain. This is made all the more difficult as I’m carrying an unlit torch swiped from the storage chamber, fretting about my inability to see once inside the tunnels. But I have to find the tunnels first. My sandal slips as I climb, unable to get a good footing and support my weight as I lift myself up and over the stones. Though I wish to hurry, knowing the urgency of completing my task, I carefully and methodically take my time, not wanting to slide and fall—I’ll be no good to anyone if I’m injured.

Eventually, I make it over the heaps of rock. But where is this overgrowth Onixem mentioned? Because of the utter destruction littering the gardens, everything appears disjointed and out of place. So ‘overgrown vegetation’? This will be much more difficult than I realized.

More loud booms, and the clattering of crumbling stones. It takes me an eternity, but eventually, I come across a dense patch of thick vines that scale the wall. They look out of place, given the stark contrast of neutral-colored stone that lines the perimeter of the area. With abated breath, I follow Onixem’s instructions, giving the slab a soft nudge. Just as she claimed, it moves with the slightest touch, allowing me to slide it over and slip inside the cavernous hideaway.

At Onixem’s mention of ‘traps’, I thought of a different plan to execute. Rather than lead warriors through a potentially perilous passage, I’d instead lead the sorcerers through them. Why risk the lives of innocents when I could fell the enemy? That is, as long as Ican navigate them myself.

The torch proves difficult to light, thanks to the surprisingly damp and muggy conditions of this closed-off tunnel. Yet I refuse to walk this passageway without the ability to see. In my panic and urgency from hearing the relentless destruction, it takes me too many strikes of the flint to count, but fortunately, the torch comes to life. The width is extremely narrow—barely enough to walk forward without angling myself. The walls are slick from humidity clinging to the moss, smelling dank and moldy.

Sliding my feet across the ground, my toe catches the lip of a loose tile. Is this a pressure trap, something Onixem told me to avoid? I look down, locating a stone tile roughly a finger’s width higher than its surroundings. Had I not been looking down or feeling for the tile, I would have easily stepped upon it without further consideration! I exhale a sigh of relief, then bunching up the bottom of my robe as I carefully step over the stone.

I carry on like this for a ways, narrowly avoiding releasing traps that will do Eleven knows what to the intruder. Eventually, I enter a wider space, though the uneven ceiling above is much lower, nearly scraping the top of my head, even at my height. For those much taller, this would be fairly cramped, but I can just walk upright relatively freely. My eyes dart about the space, inspecting every nook and crevice for any sign of a trap.

Below my ankle, a long, thin thread or rope extends the width of the tunnel. Is this another trap? Not wanting to find out, I cautiously step over it. Something inside me screams to be mindful where I place my foot. Hovering over my intended landing spot, I see it: another raised tile, followed by another thread. A trap within a trap. There’s a slight opening along the wall, barely wide enough to tiptoe across. I gingerly step over the first string, then the second, relieved to have avoided something potentially dangerous.

The tunnel continues to twist and wind its way toward… somewhere. Have I been misled? There appears to be no exit, no signal that I’m anywhere close to this courtyard of which Onixem spoke. Dust kicks up with each resonating boom occurring outside. I consider turning back, but press on, telling myself it will be just a little further.

After what feels like several harvests, the path seems to culminate into a solid wall, a dead end mocking my hope of escape. I’m immediately disheartened at the sight, cursing at the Eleven for leading me down this way. Yet as I draw nearer, squinting through the dimness, a subtle anomaly catches my eye. The glow of the flickering torchlight reveals the outline of a door, so cleverly disguised within the rocky facade that I would have dismissed it as mere stone had I not scrutinized it closely. Relief washes over me, mingled with a surge of excitement at this hidden egress, mercifully offering freedom in this claustrophobic cavern.

I emerge, confused as to where I’ve been led, my eyes struggling to adjust to the bright scene unto which I’ve arrived. It takes me a moment to find my bearings, but I soon realize I’ve arrived at a courtyard. It appears as though I’m exiting the side of a mountain or cliff, the slab cleverly disguised as a huge rock embedded into the scenery, not giving away what exists behind it. To my left, the palace appears, withering away from the desolation and destruction. I don’t have much more time to spare. I need to find those sorcerers, before they find Nuqasiq and Yachaman.

A sudden quake, and a deafening boom, alerts me to the disturbing events happening close by. I sprint toward the sound, anticipating the worst and fearing I may be too late. The sorcerers, hands cast in the dark red glow of an unnatural fire crafted within their palms, loose these malicious balls of flame at anyone in the Tapeu orange and red. The warriors are burned upon impact, set aflame in a terrifying instant. I have to stop this! My plan has to succeed.

“I am Haesan!” I shout. The sorcerers appear uninterested, continuing their destructive acts. In another section of the courtyard, the Tuatiu warrior fights with unmatched tenacity. I consider letting her handle the sorcerers, letting her prowess defeat our foes. But no, I must play my part. I don’t need to be skilled in combat to defeat an enemy. At my feet lies a fist-sized rock. While I may not possess the greatest physical attributes on Pachil, I can only hope I can fling this rock far enough to grab their attention.

The rock feels gritty in my hand, rough and a bit heavier than I anticipated. Nevertheless, I coil back and release the stone. It flies in the air, soaring like a quetzal. I eagerly watch as it… falls short of my desired destination. Sun and sky! It tumbles about, rolling on the ground at the feet of the warriors engaged in battle.

Yet the Eleven or whichever deities one prays to show me mercy. To my good fortune, it’s kicked about, eventually finding its way close to the sorcerers, enough that, while not plunking them in the head as I had wished, piques the curiosity of one of the crimson-robed cultists.

They turn to look, to find the source of the stone. I flail my arms about desperately. I lower my hood and yell, “I am Haesan, daughter of the great Arbiter, Achutli! May the Eleven smite you where you stand, you cowards!”

Follow me, you halfwits, I think, swearing within my mind, and willing them onward. Hear my shouts, cease what you’re doing, and come chase after the Arbiter’s daughter!

One of them glances around the tumult surrounding us, then finally takes notice of me. They point, alerting the others, who then gradually begin making their way toward me. My pulse races. I got their attention, but I can’t allow them to actually apprehend me—otherwise, this would all be for naught! I run, faster and harder than I’ve ever ran in my time on Pachil. This may be the wisest, or the dumbest, plan I’ve ever concocted. But I’ve got to see it through.

I find the passageway, but my pursuers aren’t pursuing me. Where did they go? I need for them to know where I am, otherwise this will all fall apart. Then, a flash of crimson. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as I see them pop out from behind the fallen debris near by. They’re much closer than I realized! Mere steps away!

Panicked, I scurry into the tunnels. I feel their presence bearing down upon me. I can’t stop now, and I can’t let myself be guided by fear. I must be calm, steady, controlled enough to maneuver around the traps.

After the long, twisting path, I find the first part of the traps. Meticulously, I step over the threads, hopping and bouncing over the traps. The nearest sorcerer shouts in that jarring language—is he alerting the others? No, it’s a wail in agony! He’s triggered the first trap, sending a humongous wall of spikes at the intruders. The trap catches a couple of the unsuspecting sorcerers, puncturing them into a bloody pulp.

“There are traps!” I hear some shout to one another, muffled by the wooden wall now a barrier between us. The panel begins to shift and move, hands emerge from behind the plank. They’re pushing and pulling it aside, persistent in pursuing their prize. I can’t stand here any longer; I must continue on, without any further hesitation.

I arrive at the narrow portion of the tunnels, sliding along gradually and minding my step. Just then, I feel a tug at the back of my garment. A hand clutches the hood of my robe.

“I have got you, daughter of the Arbiter,” he hisses in delight. “You will not get away from–“

I remove my arm from one sleeve, then another, letting the robe slip off my shoulders. I’m not proud to be left wearing nothing but a plain tunic, yet they leave me no choice. I must survive their pursuit.

A snarl in frustration is hurled at me as I continue slipping through the narrow passage. But I can no longer see—upon releasing the robe off my back, I dropped the torch. It extinguishes, fizzling on the moss-covered ground. I’ll have to navigate by feel for the rest of the way, hoping I don’t set off a trap by accident.

I sneak a ways further, until my toe catches a raised stone. But how long was the tile? I hear the cultist’s breathe, imagining the sensation of his stale breath on the back of my neck. I suppose I’ll have to guess.

I take one long step forward, hoping it’s enough. When I plant my foot, nothing jostles beneath. Did I succeed? Upon placing my trailing foot down, I breathe easier, knowing I’ve cleared the first obstacle. With renewed motivation, I swiftly breeze down the rest of the tunnel, marking the traps with my feet as I go.

More screams of agony echo throughout the hidden tunnel. I’m morbidly curious, eager to find out what fate awaited these evil deviants. But no, I must continue onward. I must concentrate and make it to the other side.

Exhausted, I finally reach the mouth of the cavern. I push the slab aside, revealing the devastated garden once again. I rush over to the rocks and start my climb, ready to reappear within the palace, prepared to–

A hand grasps my ankle, their nails digging into my skin. “Not this time, you slippery snake,” they remark. They pull me backward, my sandals unable to give me enough leverage to push off of them and fling myself forward. I kick and kick and kick, trying to loose them from my foot. A second hand grabs mine, and I shriek as I’m being dragged along the rocks. I call out for help, cry out that the Eye in the Flame has made their way into the palace. I shout that the granddaughter of Queen Mother Nuqasiq is in need of their help. Yet my shouts go unheeded, and I’m left to fend off my assailants alone.

I pause, mustering up all the energy I can. Then, with one solid heave, I kick out, smacking my assailant in the face with my sandal. It slips off my foot, freeing me from their grip. I hurry over the large stones, falling onto the ground at the other side. I see salvation. I can see the loom chamber just ahead. I crawl, pushing myself onto my feet, then run over to the hallway. I shout for help, hoping someone can hear me. I look back to find a pair of crimson robes chasing after me. They’ve made it over the rocks, and now they’re running after me!

I sprint, my bare foot getting torn up from running over the debris and splintered wood. But I can’t stop. I can’t get captured. Not now. Not after all I’ve been through.

Something wizzes by my face. Did they throw something? Are they loosing arrows at me? I look up and see Onixem standing at the end of the hall, a bow clutched in her grasp as she nocks another arrow.

“To your left,” she calls out. What does that mean? No time to think about it. I duck, and Onixem takes aim, then looses another arrow. There’s a gasp and a gargle behind me. Onixem stands still. She’s not notching another arrow. Am I safe?

Against my better judgement, I turn to look. Two men in crimson robes lay dead on the ground. I take deep, heaving breaths, bending over and clutching my knees as I try to steady myself.

“I… thought you… had gone… after your… parents,” I pant, seeing stars blink at the edges of my periphery. Onixem helps support me, wrapping my arm around her neck and carrying me off, out of the crumbling building.

“I had, until invaders appeared inside the palace,” she says. “They hindered my progress because I had to fight them off. Anyway, you’re looking very unladylike. Very indecent.”

“If I had any energy, I would punch you right about now,” I manage to get out.

Onixem chuckles. “I heard shouting and rushed over. I didn’t think you were actually going to use the tunnel like that!”

I try to think of something witty, some quip, but I’m too exhausted to come up with anything. Instead, I thank her for being there in my time of need. She shrugs this off, carrying me toward the entrance of the building. The grand entrance is destroyed beyond recognition. Nothing is left of the structure, its walls complete leveled. We find another path leading out, maneuvering around the destruction and debris until we reach the large steps that descend down. Though the battle still rages in the distance, the palace appears to be rid of the invaders, for now. My mind wanders to the Tuatiu warrior, hoping she’s survived the assault on Qapauma. But before I can think upon it for too long, Onixem interrupts my inner thoughts.

“So,” she says blankly, “daughter of the Arbiter, huh? The Qente Waila will be very interested to learn of this.”