A week after the fighting, Rashid lay in a private room, the silence broken only by the low hum of a bio-regeneration. The walls were a soothing shade of pale green, and filtered sunlight streamed through a reinforced window, overlooking a meticulously maintained hydroponic garden of herb plants.

Laila entered, her presence a study in controlled calm. The contrast with the recent chaos was stark. "How are you feeling, Rashid?" she asked, her voice soft.

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The weight of failure pressed on him, a physical ache.

Laila sat beside the bed. The shift in her posture, a slight tilt of her head, suggested a change in the conversation's direction. "A question, if you're up to it."

Rashid’s eyes flickered to her, a flicker of curiosity battling with exhaustion. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Why the gun, Rashid?" Laila's voice remained steady, but a subtle edge crept in. "Against me? Did you truly think you stood a chance?"

"We had to try," Rashid whispered, his voice hoarse. His eyes didn't meet hers, a hint of shame in his averted gaze.

A faint smile touched Laila's lips. It wasn't a smile of amusement. "Courage. Or perhaps… desperation." She paused, letting the silence hang in the air. "There's one more thing I need to understand."

Rashid closed his eyes briefly, a subtle tightening of his jaw betraying his inner tension.

"You fought a losing battle against the Hejaz army. You knew the odds. You knew Zion's promises were… hollow." Laila's gaze held his, unwavering. "So why?"

"Zion said… a month," Rashid murmured, a faint tremor in his voice. He looked at her then, a desperate plea in his eyes, as if searching for confirmation, for a lifeline. "If we held for a month, his forces would come from the east."

Laila's smile this time was tinged with pity. "A month. Or perhaps… another week? It’s easy to believe what you want to believe, isn't it? Especially when someone offers you a way out. A chance at glory. But some promises… are designed to be broken." Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of steel entering her voice. The unspoken implication was clear: Zion had used him.

Rashid sighed heavily, the weight of her words sinking in. “War is an ugly gambit.”

“Indeed,” Laila continued, her voice firm. “This world is ugly, and war is merely a game of sacrifice for those who crave power. A brave soul like you is used as a pawn to further their ambitions. It’s like a really bad board game, except instead of losing plastic soldiers, you lose actual people. So I wonder, if you know this, why not stop playing before someone yells 'checkmate' and it’s not you?”

After a long pause, Rashid finally spoke, “Yes…”

A smile broke across Laila’s face, her eyes shining with determination. “So, will you quit and join us or not? I assure you, there is no trap in my words. I genuinely want you to join the Black Nation.”

“Reconciliation?” Rashid’s voice trembled. “There is so much blood that has been spilled already. How can I face the parents of those whose sons have died for me? How can I return to the Caliphate?”

“May I speak honestly with you?” Laila asked gently.

“Yes,” Rashid replied, his curiosity piqued.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned closer, her voice softening.

He nodded, intrigued.

“You might think it’s hard to face the parents of your fallen comrades, that they will hate you for betraying the people they care for. But in reality, they will forgive you. They love you and will understand that you have a great vision. You fight for justice and peace,” Laila explained, her tone soothing.

Rashid closed his eyes, contemplating her words.

“Please, don’t make any more sacrifices. If you join us, there will be peace, and no more senseless war. We fight to save humanity. We both want the same thing: justice for this world, freedom, and equality for every race and gender. So, please join us for a better world, for the peace of the future,” Laila urged.

“Only for one request,” Rashid said, his voice steady. “Grant us autonomy and let me pursue my own space exploration projects.”

Laila considered his request, searching for a compromise. “We will allow you autonomy, and you can follow your space exploration projects as long as they benefit the Black Nation. But before we conclude our discussion, do you have any questions?”

Rashid shook his head. “No.”

“Then consider yourself a part of the Black Nation from this moment on. I welcome you to our team,” Laila declared, her voice filled with conviction. “We have much waiting for you, so get some rest and prepare for work. Remember, you are no longer a pawn but a knight fighting for justice.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

With that, a new chapter began for Rashid, one filled with hope and the promise of a better future.

In the dimly lit war room, Laila met with Nara, the tension palpable in the air. Nara's brow furrowed as she confronted Laila, her voice laced with frustration. “Why did you speak to Rashid that way? If we win the battle, why do you need to treat him with such care?”

Laila, maintaining a calm demeanor, replied softly, her eyes reflecting a hint of innocence. “He’s just a pawn, but a very brave one. He almost killed me, you know. I think we should spare him. However, we can’t let him join the Caliphate again. I made a deal with him—he can continue his space exploration as long as he joins us. If we win, we can use his expertise to build a spaceship.

laila eyes turn to distant “After all, space is the battlefield of the future. Besides, have you seen the parking situation down here? It’s a nightmare.”

Later, in the Hejaz office, the atmosphere shifted as news broke that Rashid had been captured. He demanded an autonomous government while still remaining a vassal of the Caliphate. Hejaz leaned back in his chair, contemplating the implications. “So, this is your offer? You want to live in peace, but still under my command? Hmm. Very well, I will agree to your autonomous government, but know this: you are still under my rule, only observed.”

Wazir placed a report on Hejaz's desk. "Your Excellency."

Hejaz scanned it, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Red Nation. Emerald League first, then us. Predictable." He tossed the report back onto the desk. "So, the True Horde has extended an invitation."

Wazir nodded. "Crescent Alliance. Golden Caravan mediating, as you requested."

Hejaz raised an eyebrow. "Alam, is it? Interesting. And who else has signed on for this little party?"

Wazir listed the factions, ending with, "...and a few mercenary companies. The usual rabble."

Hejaz leaned back, steepling his fingers. "So, everyone's eager to carve up the Red Nation. If we sit this one out, we'll be next on the menu." He paused, a glint in his eye. "An opportunity, indeed."

Nara, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "This Alam… is he up to the task?"

Hejaz shrugged. "The Golden Caravan seems to think so. And that's good enough for now."

Nara’s mind raced with questions. “Can we really trust Alam and the True Horde? What if they’re just puppets of the Red Nation, or if Alam has his own agenda?”

Hejaz sighed, “There are indeed many secrets surrounding Alam and the True Horde. His true intentions are still unknown, but there must be a reason why the Golden Caravan trusts him so much. Perhaps he is a puppet, a Trojan horse for the Red Nation—who knows?”

Nara turned to Hejaz, determination in her eyes. “I want to find out more about Alam and the True Horde. We must be careful with them.”

Hejaz nodded in agreement. “Yes, we must tread carefully. We don’t want to fall into their trap if they are indeed puppets of the Red Nation. Gathering information about Alam and the True Horde is crucial.”

Later, as Nara and Wazir walked down the hall from the throne room, Nara's time with Zion came back to her. An idea sparked.

"What if we dug up some dirt on Alam?" she suggested, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, just in case things go south."

Wazir stopped, turning to her. "What good would that do?"

Nara grinned. "Blackmail, Wazir. A little insurance policy."

Wazir closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head. "No, Nara. My grandfather built this nation on honesty. He started as a blacksmith, earned his reputation through hard work. We don't operate like that."

"But this is different," Nara protested. "It's geopolitics—"

"It's still tajjasus," Wazir interrupted gently.

Nara frowned. "Tajjasus?"

"Searching for someone's past misdeeds for selfish gain," Wazir explained. "It's…dishonorable. Our ancestors were trapped in a cycle of it before the Messiah came. Endless wars, the truth buried in the sand." He paused, a weary look in his eyes. "We fight with faith, Nara. We meet our enemies on the battlefield, not in the shadows."

Nara stifled a yawn. "Okay, okay, I get it. We're the good guys. We don't stoop to their level."

Wazir nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Exactly."

They continued down the hall, the weight of their decisions settling upon them. The game of alliances was a dangerous one, but they would play it their way.

As late November 2405 approached, Alam stood at the edge of the battlefield, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the Red Nation was mobilizing its forces toward the Emerald League and the Shangri-La Confederacy. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of impending conflict hanging over the land. The True Horde, currently in a fragile truce with the Red Nation, was acutely aware of the signs indicating that an all-out war was on the horizon.

“Hohooh... my hand feels both cold and hot,” Alam mused,

“Sir, it’s understandable to feel conflicted,” Fang interjected, her voice steady. “The prospect of full-scale war is unsettling. We must remain clear-headed and prepared for any eventuality, while also striving to prevent the escalation of tensions.”

Alam nodded, his mind racing with strategies. “Yes, we will attack their Siberian base. It’s their own fault for overstretching their borders.”

Fang considered this, her brow furrowing slightly. “Attacking the Red Nation's Siberian base could be risky, but it might also be effective. They’ve left their flanks vulnerable. A coordinated assault could force them to split their forces, stretching their resources thin. It’s bold, but it could be dangerous.”

Alam closed his eyes, envisioning the battlefield. “I’m in the mood for Winter War 2.0... this one will be the last.”

“Indeed, sir,” Fang replied, her tone serious. “The situation mirrors the Winter War. The Red Nation is vulnerable, and now is the time to strike hard and fast. The outcome of our next operation will determine the balance of power in the region.”

As they walked, Alam approached a new monument honoring the unnamed soldiers who had fallen in the previous year’s battles. The statue, a fist raised to the sky, bore scars and bandages, a testament to the sacrifices made.

“This monument is powerful,” Fang remarked, following closely behind. “It honors the contributions of those who fought bravely for the True Horde. It serves as a reminder of the sacrifices necessary for the greater good of our empire.”

“Mhm... I wonder if my soldiers believe in an afterlife,” Alam pondered aloud.

Fang paused, reflecting on his words. “That’s a profound question, sir. Some may believe in an afterlife, while others may not. Regardless, the legacy of our fallen comrades will live on in the memories of their loved ones and in the accomplishments of the True Horde. Their bravery and dedication have paved the way for our empire.”

“Indeed. Go pray for them in your own way, even if you’re an atheist. We can all appreciate our current lives because of their sacrifices,” Alam encouraged.

Fang knelt before the statue, closing her eyes in contemplation. After several moments of silence, she rose, a serene expression on her face. “I feel a sense of peace, sir. It’s as if the fallen soldiers are watching over us, guiding and protecting us. I felt a connection with them, and I believe they appreciate our efforts to honor their sacrifice.”

“Good. In my belief, souls never vanish; energy is never gone. They simply transition to a different dimension,” Alam stated, his voice firm.

“I share that belief, sir. The soul is energy, and energy is transformed rather than destroyed. The fallen soldiers are with us in spirit, guiding us with their wisdom and strength,” Fang affirmed.

“Excellent. Now, I want dinner. I’m in the mood for noodles,” Alam declared, shifting the conversation.

Fang blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “Yes, sir. I will arrange for some noodles to be prepared promptly.”

Alam chuckled, “Ah, it’s just hard to make you chuckle. But never mind; I appreciate you for who you are.”

Fang blushed slightly, her loyalty evident. “I am glad you appreciate me, sir. It is my duty and privilege to serve you and the True Horde. My loyalty is unbreakable, and I will not let you down, no matter what may come.”

“thanks” alam pat her shoulder. and squish it a bit. He turned to the north, his gaze sweeping across the dark horizon. that land… everyone wants a piece.. he think for himself. even if he able to recapture it. how long he can hold it? A week? A month? Until the next hungry warlord comes knocking?. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Noodles first.