The Berber camp was silent, except for the whispers of the desert wind, carrying grains of sand that danced across the barren dunes. The vast expanse of emptiness stretched out in every direction, as if the world had swallowed the army whole. Yet beneath the calm exterior, the tension was palpable. Rashid sat in his tent, staring into the flickering fire that cast long shadows on the walls. His thoughts were miles away, torn between the physical battles he fought and the mental war that raged inside him.

He could feel it—the Eternal Flame. Its heat coursed through his veins, alive and hungry. It spoke to him, a quiet voice that grew louder with each passing day. Use me, it whispered, and no enemy shall stand in your way.

Rashid clenched his fists, pushing the voice down once again. He had come so far without surrendering to its seductive promises, but every time he tapped into its power, he felt a piece of his soul slip away. Would there come a day when there was nothing left of him but the Flame?

Morning came with a harsh light that pierced the horizon. The Berber forces stirred, preparing to move deeper into the desert. Rashid knew they were running out of time. Spain’s main army would soon be on their trail, and they couldn’t remain in one place for long.

Malik entered Rashid’s tent, his expression grim. “We’ve scouted the area. There’s an oasis about two days’ ride from here, but it’s on the edge of Spanish-controlled territory.”

Rashid nodded slowly, considering the options. They needed water, food, and rest, but venturing too close to Spanish forces risked giving away their position.

“How many men can we move quietly?” Rashid asked, rising from his seat and looking Malik in the eye.

“We’ll have to split the force. Take only the elite riders—those who can navigate the desert quickly. The rest of the men can hold back and move slower.”

Rashid frowned. “If Spain’s forces catch up to our slower men, they’ll be slaughtered.”

“That’s the risk we run,” Malik said bluntly. “But we can’t lead the entire army into a trap.”

Before Rashid could respond, Safiya appeared at the entrance of the tent, her face illuminated by the morning light. “There’s another option,” she said. “We send a small group to the oasis as a diversion. Make them think we’re moving in that direction, while the main force circles north.”

Rashid’s eyes met hers, and he could see the calculation in her gaze. It was a risky move, but it could work. The Spaniards would expect them to head for water. Leading them to the oasis might buy the Berber army time to regroup and plan their next move.

“We’ll do it,” Rashid said after a moment. “Gather the riders. We leave at first light.”

As the camp prepared to break, Rashid found a moment of solitude. He stood atop a small dune, the wind tugging at his cloak as he looked out over the endless sea of sand. The Flame within him simmered, its presence never fully quiet.

You don’t have to run, the Flame whispered. With me, you could obliterate them all.

Rashid closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voice. He knew what the Flame wanted. It wanted control. But he couldn’t give in—not yet.

“I won’t be your puppet,” Rashid muttered under his breath.

You will be my king, the Flame purred. Spain, France, the world—they will bow before you if you let me free.

A sharp pang of anger shot through Rashid. The audacity of the Flame to assume he would bend to its will infuriated him. But the anger was quickly replaced by a cold, creeping fear. What if it was right? What if, by resisting the Flame’s power, he was condemning his people to a slow, grinding defeat?

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“Rashid.”

The voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see Safiya approaching. Her dark eyes searched his face, as if sensing the internal struggle he fought to conceal.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice quiet but filled with concern.

Rashid forced a small smile. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him, he could see that much in her gaze. But she didn’t press. Instead, she stepped closer, her hand lightly resting on his arm. “We’ll get through this. The Spanish army may be vast, but they’re not invincible. We know this land better than they do.”

Rashid nodded, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He appreciated her support, but it was the war within himself that concerned him the most.

“We leave at first light,” he said softly, his eyes returning to the horizon. “Let’s be ready.”

By midday, Rashid, Safiya, Malik, and a small group of elite riders had reached the edge of the oasis. It was a rare patch of green amid the harsh desert, with palm trees swaying in the wind and a small pool of water glittering in the sun. But Rashid knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security. The Spaniards would be watching.

“We’ll make it look like we’re setting up camp here,” Rashid instructed, dismounting from his horse. “Make noise, light fires, but stay alert. If they’re nearby, we’ll draw them out.”

The riders moved quickly, creating the illusion of a much larger force. Rashid stood at the edge of the oasis, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The desert was silent, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional sound of a horse’s hooves shifting in the sand.

Hours passed. The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the sand. Rashid’s muscles were tense, his senses heightened. He could feel the Flame stirring within him, growing impatient.

Then, in the distance, a flicker of movement. Rashid’s eyes narrowed. “They’re here,” he murmured.

Sure enough, a column of Spanish soldiers appeared on the horizon, moving cautiously toward the oasis. They had taken the bait.

“Positions!” Rashid called softly, signaling his men to hide among the rocks and trees.

The Spaniards approached, unaware of the trap that awaited them. Rashid’s heart pounded in his chest, but his hand was steady as he gripped his sword. He could feel the Flame thrumming beneath his skin, urging him to act.

Now, it whispered. Now is the time to strike.

Rashid raised his hand, signaling the attack. His men leaped from their hiding places, swords gleaming in the fading sunlight. The Spaniards were caught off guard, their ranks thrown into chaos as the Berber riders descended upon them with the fury of the desert itself.

Rashid charged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The Flame surged within him, lending him strength and speed beyond that of a normal man. His enemies fell before him, their blood staining the sand.

But even as he fought, Rashid could feel the Flame pushing him further, urging him to unleash its full power. His vision blurred, the heat of the battle merging with the heat of the fire within him. For a moment, he was lost in the chaos, barely aware of his own actions.

Then a sharp cry broke through the haze.

“Rashid!”

It was Safiya’s voice. Rashid snapped back to reality, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked around, seeing the battlefield clearly for the first time. The Spaniards were retreating, their forces shattered by the ambush. But it wasn’t victory that filled his mind—it was the fear of what he had almost done.

He had come dangerously close to losing control.

As the last of the Spanish soldiers fled into the desert, Rashid stood at the edge of the oasis, his sword still in hand. His heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline of battle still coursing through his veins. But it was the Flame that concerned him most. It had taken more of him this time—more of his strength, more of his will.

Safiya approached, her eyes filled with worry. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she said softly. “You can’t keep fighting like this.”

Rashid didn’t respond immediately. He sheathed his sword and turned to face her, his expression grim. “I can’t afford to hold back. Not with what’s coming.”

Safiya’s gaze hardened. “You think the Flame is the answer? You know what it’s doing to you.”

“I know,” Rashid said, his voice heavy. “But every time I resist, the cost gets higher. And if I lose this war, it won’t matter what the Flame does to me. We’ll all be dead.”

She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. “You’re more than just a weapon, Rashid. Don’t forget that.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the wind stirring the palm trees around them. Rashid knew she was right, but he also knew that the battle against Spain—and the battle within himself—was far from over.

“We move at dawn,” he said finally, pulling away from her. “Spain will come again, and we need to be ready.”

As the Berber forces regrouped at the oasis, Rashid’s mind was already on the next challenge. Spain’s army was vast, and they would not give up so easily. He could feel the storm gathering on the horizon, the weight of the war pressing down on him.

And somewhere deep within, the Flame waited, patient and unrelenting.