The desert winds howled louder, an omen of the impending storm as Rashid and his forces prepared to march against Spain. The morale in the camp was high, despite the looming threat. Faris’s betrayal had tested their resolve, but his defeat had rekindled their belief in victory.

Rashid stood atop a dune, looking out over the camp. His warriors moved with purpose, tending to weapons, preparing supplies, and gathering intelligence. They were hardened by the conflict, their determination unyielding. Yet, even as the men prepared for battle, Rashid’s thoughts were elsewhere—focused on the Eternal Flame and its growing presence within him.

He had used its power sparingly, but each time, it called to him more insistently, tempting him to unleash its full force. A part of him feared what would happen if he lost control, but another part wondered if that was exactly what he needed to turn the tide of war.

In the command tent, Rashid gathered with Safiya, Malik, and the other tribal leaders to finalize their strategy. The map of the region lay spread out before them, with key Spanish positions marked in red.

“We know the Spaniards have fortified key coastal cities,” Rashid began, his eyes scanning the room. “They’ve set up defenses and supply lines that will be difficult to breach. But if we cut off their supplies and divide their forces, we can weaken them enough to push them out.”

Malik leaned forward, tracing a route with his finger. “Their weakest point is near the coastal town of Arzila. It’s not as heavily defended as Tangier, and it’s a vital supply hub. If we take it, we’ll cripple their logistics.”

Safiya nodded in agreement. “We should strike fast. If we delay, the Spanish reinforcements from the north will arrive, and we’ll be surrounded. Timing is critical.”

Rashid weighed their options, his mind racing. The Flame pulsed within him, urging him to act swiftly and decisively, to unleash its fury on the invaders. But he had to be cautious—there was too much at stake.

“Then it’s decided,” Rashid said at last. “We move on Arzila at dawn. We’ll hit them hard, disrupt their supply lines, and force them to retreat. But we must be prepared for a counterattack. Spain won’t take this loss lightly.”

The tribal leaders nodded, their faces set in grim determination. The plan was risky, but it was their best chance to gain the upper hand in the war.

As the council dispersed, Rashid found a moment of solitude beneath the desert sky. The stars twinkled overhead, vast and unyielding, and the silence of the night was a sharp contrast to the chaos that would soon come.

Safiya approached quietly, her presence calming. “You’ve been distant,” she said, her voice soft. “The Flame troubles you, doesn’t it?”

Rashid glanced at her, then back to the horizon. “It grows stronger every day. I can feel it, burning inside me. Sometimes, I fear what it wants. What it will turn me into.”

Safiya moved closer, her hand resting on his arm. “The Flame is a tool, Rashid. It doesn’t control you—you control it. Don’t let it consume you. You’re more than the power it offers.”

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Rashid sighed, the weight of her words heavy. “I know. But there’s a part of me that wonders… What if I’m meant to use it? What if the Flame is the key to saving Morocco?”

“Maybe it is,” Safiya admitted. “But not at the cost of who you are. You’re the leader the tribes follow because of your vision, your strength—not just the power of the Flame.”

Rashid nodded slowly, though doubt still lingered. He knew he had to tread carefully, for the line between using the Flame and becoming its slave was thin. But in the war against Spain, he might not have the luxury of restraint for much longer.

At dawn, the Berber forces began their march toward Arzila. Rashid rode at the head of the column, his eyes sharp as they traversed the rolling dunes. The men behind him were seasoned warriors, ready for battle, their spirits bolstered by their victory over Faris.

The scouts returned intermittently, bringing news of Spanish patrols and fortifications. Rashid listened carefully, adjusting their approach with each new piece of information. His mind was focused on the battle ahead, but the Flame continued to stir within him, its power ever-present.

By midday, the town of Arzila came into view. It was a modest settlement, fortified but not heavily defended. Spanish banners fluttered in the breeze, and the sounds of activity from within the walls reached Rashid’s ears. The town was bustling, unaware of the storm that was about to break over it.

“We strike at night,” Rashid announced to his commanders. “When the town is asleep, we’ll breach the walls and take them by surprise. Swift and silent. No quarter for the invaders.”

Malik grinned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “They won’t know what hit them.”

As the sun set, the Berber forces gathered in the shadows of the dunes, preparing for the assault. Rashid led the vanguard, his heart pounding with anticipation. The Eternal Flame flared within him, eager for the coming conflict, but he kept it in check.

The night was still, and the town of Arzila was quiet. Rashid gave the signal, and his warriors moved swiftly, their movements silent as they approached the walls. The guards were few, and those that stood watch were easily dispatched by the Berber scouts.

Within minutes, Rashid’s forces had breached the walls, pouring into the town like shadows. The Spanish soldiers stationed there were caught off guard, scrambling to mount a defense, but it was too late. Rashid’s warriors cut through them with ruthless efficiency.

Rashid himself fought at the forefront, his sword a blur as he moved from one enemy to the next. The Flame within him surged, lending him strength and speed beyond that of any mortal man. The Spanish soldiers fell before him, unable to match his ferocity.

But as the battle raged, Rashid felt the Flame tugging at him, urging him to unleash its full power. He could feel it building inside him, begging to be released, to consume everything in its path.

He hesitated, his sword poised over a fallen Spanish officer. The Flame whispered in his mind, promising him victory, power, and control over the battlefield. All he had to do was let go.

For a moment, Rashid considered it. The temptation was overwhelming. But then he saw the faces of his warriors—men who followed him not because of the Flame, but because of his leadership. They believed in him, not in the power he held.

With a deep breath, Rashid pushed the Flame back, burying its whispers beneath his will. He would win this battle on his own terms, not by becoming a puppet of the power inside him.

The battle was over by dawn. The town of Arzila had fallen, and the Spanish forces were either dead or captured. Rashid’s warriors moved through the streets, securing the town and ensuring that no enemy reinforcements would arrive unnoticed.

Rashid stood in the town square, surveying the aftermath of the battle. It was a hard-fought victory, but a crucial one. With Arzila under their control, the Berber forces had dealt a significant blow to Spain’s supply lines. It was a turning point in the war.

Malik approached, a satisfied grin on his face. “We did it. Arzila is ours.”

Rashid nodded, though his mind was already on the next move. “This is only the beginning. Spain will retaliate, and we need to be ready.”

Safiya joined them, her eyes scanning the horizon. “We’ve sent a message to Spain. They won’t underestimate us again.”

Rashid’s gaze hardened. “Good. Let them come. We’ll be ready.”