The night sky over Arzila was still, save for the quiet murmurs of Rashid’s soldiers preparing for their departure. The decision had been made—Arzila would be abandoned. Though victory had been achieved just days before, the looming shadow of Spain’s retaliation had forced Rashid’s hand.

Rashid stood on the outskirts of the town, watching his men as they moved supplies and prepared the horses for the journey into the desert. His mind was burdened with the weight of leadership, the constant calculation of what must be sacrificed for survival.

He felt the Eternal Flame within him, pulsing with a raw energy that made his skin hum. It had grown louder, more demanding, since the battle at Arzila. He could feel it pressing against his will, trying to seep into his decisions, tempting him to wield its full force against the Spanish army. But he had already made the choice to retreat. He couldn’t afford to let the Flame dictate his path—at least, not yet.

In the heart of the town, Safiya and Malik directed the last groups of soldiers to dismantle camp and prepare for their journey. Safiya’s calm presence was a comfort to those around her, even as they faced the uncertainty of abandoning their hard-won victory. Malik, meanwhile, moved with purpose, ensuring that traps were set in the streets and at the town’s perimeter to slow down the advancing Spanish forces.

“We leave no advantage to them,” Malik said, his voice hard. “We’ll make them regret ever stepping foot in Arzila.”

Safiya glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. “We’re not aiming to crush them here. That’ll come later. For now, we just need to survive and regroup.”

Malik gave a grim nod. “Survival, for now. But eventually, we’ll make them pay for every inch of our land.”

Rashid joined them, his presence casting a long shadow in the dim torchlight. “Are the preparations complete?”

Malik nodded. “Everything’s in place. We’ll be ready to move before dawn.”

Rashid glanced around at the men under his command. They were experienced warriors, but he could see the strain of constant warfare wearing on them. The Flame inside him whispered of an easier solution, of power that could end their suffering, but he pushed it down.

“Good,” Rashid said. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

Before dawn, the Berber forces began their quiet exodus from Arzila. Under the cover of darkness, they moved swiftly, leaving behind the town they had so recently claimed. The warriors were silent, their expressions stoic as they marched into the desert, away from the looming Spanish threat.

Rashid rode at the front, his eyes scanning the horizon. The desert was his ally, vast and unforgiving to those who didn’t understand its secrets. Spain’s forces would struggle to track them through the shifting sands, and Rashid intended to use that to his advantage.

Safiya rode alongside him, her presence a steadying force. “You made the right decision,” she said quietly. “Staying in Arzila would have been suicide.”

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Rashid didn’t respond immediately. His thoughts were tangled, caught between the weight of his choices and the temptation of the Flame. “I know,” he said at last. “But I hate leaving something we fought so hard for.”

Safiya’s gaze softened. “Sometimes, the hardest decisions are the right ones. We’ll come back stronger.”

Rashid nodded, though doubt still lingered in his heart. The retreat felt like a step backward, even if it was necessary for their survival. And with each passing moment, the Flame’s whispers grew louder.

By midday, the heat of the desert was oppressive, but the Berber forces pressed on, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the Spanish army as possible. Scouts rode ahead, keeping watch for any sign of pursuit.

As the sun reached its peak, one of the scouts returned, his horse kicking up clouds of dust as he approached. “Commander Rashid!” the scout called out. “There’s movement in the east. It’s faint, but it looks like a Spanish detachment.”

Rashid’s eyes narrowed. “How far?”

“Not far,” the scout replied. “They’re moving fast, but it looks like a smaller group—probably sent to track us.”

Rashid glanced at Safiya and Malik. “We can’t afford to let them follow us. If they find our main force, they’ll lead the entire Spanish army straight to us.”

Malik grinned, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword. “Then we take them out. Ambush them before they get close.”

Rashid nodded. “Prepare the men. We’ll strike quickly and quietly.”

Rashid and his warriors moved swiftly, using the natural contours of the desert to conceal their approach. The heat shimmered in the distance, distorting the shapes of the dunes, but Rashid’s instincts were sharp. He knew this land well, and he would use every advantage it offered.

The Spanish detachment was small, just as the scout had reported—no more than a dozen soldiers riding in a tight formation. They moved cautiously, but they were unprepared for the swift, silent assault that awaited them.

Rashid gave the signal, and his warriors surged forward from their hiding places among the dunes. The Spaniards barely had time to react before the Berbers were upon them, their swords flashing in the harsh desert light.

Rashid led the charge, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. The Flame within him stirred, its power rising as he fought, but he kept it in check. The battle was brief, brutal, and over within minutes. The Spanish soldiers fell one by one, their blood staining the sands.

As the dust settled, Rashid surveyed the battlefield. The Spanish detachment was wiped out, and his warriors stood victorious, though their faces showed no triumph—only grim determination. They knew this was just the beginning.

Malik wiped his blade on the cloak of a fallen Spaniard and turned to Rashid. “No survivors. They won’t be able to report back.”

Rashid nodded, though the victory felt hollow. “Good. But this was just a scout force. The real army will be much harder to evade.”

That evening, the Berber forces made camp in the shadow of a towering dune. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the blazing heat of the day, but Rashid found no comfort in the respite. He stood at the edge of the camp, staring out into the endless expanse of sand.

Safiya approached, her footsteps soft on the desert floor. “You’re restless,” she said quietly.

Rashid didn’t look at her. “I keep thinking about the Flame. Every time we fight, it gets harder to resist. It wants to be used, to be unleashed.”

Safiya frowned, her gaze serious. “You’ve controlled it so far. You’re stronger than it. Don’t let it change you.”

“I’m trying,” Rashid said, his voice low. “But every day, it feels like I’m losing a little more of myself to it. And what if one day I can’t resist?”

Safiya stepped closer, her hand resting on his arm. “Then we’ll face that day together. You’re not alone, Rashid.”

He turned to her, his eyes searching her face for answers he couldn’t find within himself. The weight of the Flame, the burden of leadership, and the constant threat of Spain all bore down on him, but in that moment, Safiya’s presence was a small beacon of hope.

“I hope you’re right,” Rashid said softly, though the doubt in his heart remained.