The sun rose over the newly conquered town of Arzila, casting long shadows across the streets that had seen bloodshed just hours earlier. Rashid stood at the edge of the town, watching the desert winds sweep through the empty alleyways. The quiet was deceiving; it wouldn’t last.

The victory had been decisive, but Rashid knew it was only a matter of time before Spain retaliated. His forces had dealt a major blow to their supply lines, but the enemy would regroup, and their counterstrike would be brutal. Arzila was a strategic gain, but it also marked the start of a more dangerous phase of the war.

As Rashid walked through the town, his thoughts drifted to the Eternal Flame. He had resisted its pull during the battle, but the Flame's whispers had grown louder since the fight ended. The hunger for power gnawed at him constantly, tempting him to embrace its full strength and bring Spain to its knees.

He had to maintain control. Giving in to the Flame could win battles, but it might destroy everything else.

Back at the center of Arzila, Malik and Safiya were overseeing the distribution of resources. The town’s few remaining inhabitants watched from the windows, wary of their new overlords. Rashid’s forces moved quickly, fortifying the town against an inevitable Spanish counterattack.

Malik looked up as Rashid approached. “We’ve seized their stockpiles of food and weapons. It should sustain us for a while, but we’ll need to be ready when Spain strikes back.”

Rashid nodded. “We can’t hold this town for long. It was a quick victory, but we need to prepare for a retreat if their reinforcements arrive sooner than expected.”

Safiya glanced up from her map. “We’ll slow them down as much as we can. I’ve sent scouts to monitor the northern roads. If the Spanish army is moving, we’ll know.”

Rashid appreciated her foresight. Despite the victory, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Spain wouldn’t let this stand, and they would throw everything they had to retake Arzila. They would come with more soldiers, more weapons, and a fury that could burn the town to the ground.

“We don’t have much time,” Rashid said quietly. “The real battle is coming.”

As preparations continued, Rashid found a moment of quiet near the town’s walls. He looked out over the desert, where the distant horizon blurred into the sky. The solitude brought memories of his past—of the life he once knew before the war, before the betrayal, and before the Flame.

The peaceful days seemed like a distant dream now. He had been a prince, a son of Morocco, with no knowledge of the trials that lay ahead. His rebirth after the fall of his homeland had forged him into something new, but it had come with a price.

“Thinking about the past won’t change what’s ahead,” Safiya said softly as she approached.

Rashid didn’t turn to her immediately. “I wasn’t prepared for any of this. Every day, I feel the weight of what we’ve lost, and what’s still at risk. Sometimes, I wonder if we’re moving in the right direction.”

Safiya stood beside him, her gaze fixed on the desert. “You’re not the only one who feels that weight. But you’re leading because you believe in something greater than yourself. That’s why the tribes follow you. That’s why I follow you.”

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Her words gave him some comfort, though the doubt still lingered. The Flame pulsed within him, reminding him of the power he held and the cost of refusing it. But for now, he had to trust in his own judgment, not the whispers of the fire.

“We need to move soon,” Rashid said, shifting the conversation. “Once Spain gathers its forces, they’ll come for us. We can’t let them trap us here.”

As Rashid and Safiya returned to the camp, Malik approached, his expression dark. “We found something.”

Rashid raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Malik gestured for them to follow. “One of the Spanish soldiers we captured after the raid—he’s not who he claims to be.”

They followed Malik to a small stone building where the prisoner was held. The man sat bound in the center of the room, his eyes defiant despite the dirt and blood caked on his face. He wore the uniform of a Spanish officer, but there was something about him that didn’t fit.

“We interrogated him,” Malik continued. “He speaks Arabic fluently, too fluently for a Spanish officer. And he knew things about our forces that no outsider should know.”

Rashid’s eyes narrowed. “A spy?”

The prisoner smirked. “You’re clever, but you’re too late. Spain already knows your every move. Even now, they march toward Arzila, ready to crush your little rebellion.”

Rashid stepped forward, his gaze piercing. “How many of you are there?”

The prisoner’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “Enough to ensure that Morocco falls. You’ve only delayed the inevitable. Your defeat is coming.”

Rashid clenched his fists, resisting the urge to strike the man. He needed answers, not blind fury. “What is Spain’s plan? How far are they from Arzila?”

The spy laughed. “You think I’d tell you? You’re already finished. Your victories mean nothing.”

Rashid glanced at Malik, who stepped forward with his dagger drawn. “You’ll talk, one way or another.”

But before Malik could begin, Rashid held up a hand. “Wait. Let him stew for a while. We’ll get the information out of him when he realizes there’s no escape.”

They left the prisoner in the building, guarded by Rashid’s men. As they walked away, Rashid’s thoughts raced. Spain was already moving, faster than they had anticipated. They needed to act soon, or Arzila would be their tomb.

That night, Rashid called another war council. The captured spy had confirmed what he already suspected—Spain’s forces were closer than they had thought, and they were coming in greater numbers. The Berber forces were strong, but they couldn’t hold Arzila against an army that size.

“We have two choices,” Rashid began, addressing his commanders. “We can stay and fortify, knowing we’ll be overwhelmed, or we can retreat and regroup, drawing them into more favorable territory.”

The room was silent as everyone considered the options. Malik was the first to speak. “We can’t win a direct confrontation with them here. If we stay, we’ll be trapped.”

Safiya nodded. “But if we retreat, we risk losing Arzila and all the strategic gains we’ve made.”

Rashid felt the Flame stirring within him, offering its power, its solutions. With it, he could destroy the Spanish army, level Arzila, and claim victory. But the cost… the cost would be too high.

“We retreat,” Rashid said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll regroup in the desert and strike from the shadows, where they won’t expect us. We’re not ready for a full confrontation yet. Not like this.”

The decision was made. By dawn, the Berber forces would leave Arzila behind, setting traps and ambushes for the Spanish army that followed.

As the camp prepared for the retreat, Rashid found himself alone once more. The Eternal Flame burned inside him, louder now, more insistent. It promised him power, control, and a path to victory that didn’t require retreat.

“You’re running,” the Flame whispered. “You could destroy them, right here, right now. Unleash me, and I will give you the strength to crush Spain’s armies. No one will stand in your way.”

Rashid closed his eyes, trying to push the voice away. But the temptation was strong, and each day, it became harder to resist.

“Not yet,” Rashid muttered to himself. “Not like this.”

But the Flame wouldn’t be silenced so easily. And Rashid knew that soon, the day would come when he might have no choice but to embrace its power.