The betrayal

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The victory earned by Dani feels hollow… but a win is still a win.

And as the victors, it's time to claim our spoils. Lani and I step into the enemy commander's tent.

The floor is covered in a thick rug—probably sheep's wool. The space is surprisingly neat and luxurious, furnished with a small table and two chairs facing each other. The air reeks of sweat, sex, and sulfur.

The commander, already seated, removes her helmet and scowls.

"What do you want from me? As the loser, I must obey the victor's will." Her voice is bitter.

She looks to be in her late twenties, with a sharp blonde bob and piercing blue eyes. I might have called her beautiful, if not for the venom in her tone and the contempt in her gaze.

"Give us your champion," Lani says, her words cold and precise.

"Why her? Planning to eat her or something?" the commander snaps with a mocking grin.

"It's the victor's right to take whatever they want, isn't it?" Lani replies. "I'm just claiming what's mine."

The commander narrows her eyes. "Your choice. But don't say I didn't warn you—you'll lose something important too."

Then, with a resigned breath, she raises her arms in surrender.

Without another word, Lani and I leave the tent. Outside, the warriors from the village wait for us, buzzing with anticipation.

Shortly after, the enemy champion joins us—unarmored but dignified. She, too, has a bob cut, though hers is fiery red.

Despite being a former enemy, many of our warriors flock to her, drawn by the strength and resolve she displayed in battle.

...

By the chief's command, the villagers begin preparing a feast to celebrate Dani's victory.

I'm caught off guard when Siasha and Samsi pull me aside, announcing that they're both carrying my child. It's time to "switch," they say, like it's some kind of ceremony.

With the Lula tribe's open nature and the celebratory mood in full swing, no one suspects the newcomer—Rini—until it's far too late.

It happens at dusk.

Just as the feast is about to be served, the earth shakes with a deafening boom.

KABOOOOM.

An explosion rocks the village entrance. Panic spreads like wildfire.

I'm thrown off my feet and land hard on my ass.

Everyone from Big Stone rushes toward the entrance—except me and Rini.

I glance at her. Something's off. She winces like she's in pain, but her arm had already been treated by Meliss and the healer. It should've been healed by now.

She shakes her head and slaps her own face.

"Sorry," she mutters.

Then she pulls out a cloth and lunges at me, trying to choke me with it.

I dodge to the side and make a run for the stairs—but I trip. A rope.

It's enchanted. It tightens around my ankles on its own.

"Fuck," I hiss, struggling to undo the knot.

But she's already on me, stuffing the cloth into my mouth. My strength starts to fade.

She binds my ankles and wrists before hoisting me over her shoulder with ease. Carrying me like I weigh nothing, she heads toward the watering hole.

I pray—just once—that someone notices. But all I hear is the chaos at the village entrance.

Once we reach the cliff, Rini pulls a rope from her bag, ties it to a rock, and lowers it over the edge. Then she descends with me still slung over her shoulder.

Darkness takes me.

...

When I wake, I'm tied up in a moving cage, like a carriage built for prisoners. I try to work the rope against the frame, but a voice stops me cold.

"If I were you, I wouldn't do that."

I turn to see the enemy commander riding beside me on a red horse. She removes her helmet, revealing a smug grin that makes me want to punch her teeth in.

"You have no honor," I spit. "Attacking people who trusted you."

"Honor? They're just a bunch of dim-witted barbarians. What honor did they ever have?" she scoffs.

"You're a coward."

She laughs. "They thought that just because magic doesn't work in those cursed mountains, they were safe forever? Wait till the Empire's supplies arrive. Then I'll burn that village to ash—right after I've had my taste of a Deity's chosen one."

With a cruel smirk, she spurs her horse forward, leaving me stewing in rage.

"Fucking bitch," I mutter, eyes locked on the procession ahead—foot soldiers, wagons, and carriages stretching into the distance.

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