Chapter 67: Moonlight Embrace

As the blood still dripped from Noor's lips, she stood amidst the wreckage, her figure like a broken statue. Her hair, matted with sweat and blood, hung in wild, untamed strands. She had fallen to the ground , her power had snapped, a sudden eruption of a strength that could kill and devastate at will. Now, though, she trembled. Her body shattered, her spirit frayed... but she still stood.

Zeyla, leaning against the cracked wall, smirked. "Look at you. You're the one who decimates armies, and now you're spilling like a damn fountain. You want me to go grab a towel?" Her voice was sharp, but her words were laced with something far darker. "We've all seen you slay men in seconds. This?" She gestured to the bloodstains around Noor, her eyes narrowing. "This is new, even for you."

Maya, stood at a distance, eyes glued to Noor. Her fingers clenched tighter around her blade, almost as if bracing herself for the truth. "Doesn't matter how many wars you win or children you save," she muttered. "The blood's always on your hands, Madam Noor. Can you ever wash it off?" Her tone dripped with something deeper—an unease that gnawed at her. She couldn't mask it any longer, the sick realization. "You make one mistake, and the world goes to hell.?" Maya's voice barely reached Noor, but it cut like a knife.

Noor's lips parted as she met their eyes. The pain was evident, but not in the way they'd expected. Her eyes, normally cold and calculating, were filled with the rawness of someone on the brink of complete destruction. "Do you think I don't know that?!" she hissed, each word a struggle as she wiped the blood from her lips. "Do you think this is power? This is agony... agony of a life lived for the wrong reasons."

Her words hovered in the air, a haunting mix of weakness and strength. The silence stretched thin.Maya felt the ache of her own heart for the woman who had saved her, but who was now drowning in her own despair.

Zeyla, unimpressed, shot back, her gaze cutting across the room. "You're such a damned mystery. One minute, you're a goddamn war machine, the next, you're a mess of bleeding emotion.You can't be both." She couldn't help but scoff, the words tinged with a bitter edge of fear. There was something about Noor—something that made Zeyla feel like she might never understand her, and maybe she wasn't supposed to.

Noor's laughter, low and dangerous, escaped her throat. "I don't choose, Zeyla. I don't get that luxury." Her voice softened, becoming almost otherworldly. "Fate doesn't give me the right to choose. I am what I am... for their salvation... or their damnation." She turned away from them, the rawness of her words lingering in the air like smoke. "I've broken everything to build this, and yet I remain broken."

Zeyla snorted, turning to Maya with a raised brow. "Look at her. All that power, all that pain, and she's still a damn martyr. The one woman who could burn an empire to the ground but instead chooses to protect its ashes."

Maya's gaze softened, conflicted. "She's not a martyr, Zeyla. She's a prisoner." She sighed heavily, her heart still heavy from the weight of Noor's words. "And I don't think she even knows if she wants to be saved anymore."

---

As the blood continued to stain the floor beneath her, Noor's thoughts were far away.

"The price of power... is always too high," Noor thought, her gaze flickering over the children caged by Drangheta, who had no idea of the depth of her pain.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek ,from the realization that she could never escape this path she had chosen. She had chosen to fight, to protect, to kill—but somewhere along the way, she had lost herself. She had lost herself.All for the sake of an empire built on blood. Or perhaps for nothing at all.

Maya watched from the shadows, her blade still gripped tightly. She felt her stomach twist in discomfort as she watched Noor break down, silently cursing herself. Maybe we were wrong to stay. Maybe it was better to walk away. But... She glanced at Zeyla. Who else could carry the weight that Noor does? Her heart softened in a way that made her uncomfortable. "I can't leave her," Maya whispered. "She doesn't know how to live without the weight of the world."

Zeyla turned to her, her expression cold. "Then we're damned to the same hell ,I guess."

---

Noor's voice pierced the stillness, each word floating like a whisper from another world. "You think I wish for strength?" she asked softly, her eyes distant. "No. I ache for a release from this suffering. I ache for peace. For a peace that will never come." She inhaled deeply, as if summoning some divine power to fill the void inside her. "But in the end, peace is a lie. A myth."

Her hand lifted, stained with blood, and she cast it toward the heavens. "I have no mercy left. Not for you, not for me."

Zeyla and Maya stood silently as Noor's words hung in the air like a spell, leaving them both feeling like prisoners to their own fates.

"That's poetic," Zeyla quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'd prefer a shower and a drink instead of your endless martyrdom. Can we get that, maybe?"

Maya's lip twitched in a half-smile, but her gaze remained fixed on Noor, who had already turned her attention to the children.

Zeyla's tone shifted, a little softer now. "But damn, Madam Noor... if you're gonna keep playing the martyr, can you at least stop bleeding all over everything?"

---

Maya stood quietly beside the window, gazing out over the expansive grounds of Noor's estate. The soft glow of twilight cast long shadows, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel the weight of the room around her, the heavy silence that hung in the air as if the entire estate was holding its breath. What have we become? she wondered, her thoughts spiraling as they always did after such a brutal night. More loyal, yes. But is it a loyalty born of choice? Or fear?

She thought back to Noor, to the way she had fought so fiercely, so ruthlessly, yet had still somehow managed to show a sliver of tenderness for the children. She's the only one I've ever known to carry such a burden and still keep her grace intact, Maya thought bitterly. But at what cost? Noor, the woman who commanded armies, who broke men in ways they didn't know they could be broken, was now the woman who wept in silence. And I'm afraid we'll never truly understand her.

I thought once she was a monster, Maya mused, staring out at the moonlit horizon. But she's not. She's just a woman who lost too much. And now we're all just spectators of her pain.

---

Zeyla leaned against the polished marble wall, arms crossed. The weight of the day, of the past few days, sat heavy on her chest. The battles were over, the blood spilled, but it didn't feel like victory. It felt like survival. And it doesn't taste as sweet as I thought it would, she reflected.

She couldn't stop thinking about Noor—about how different she had been when she freed the children. There's something haunting about the way she moves between power and softness, Zeyla thought. I've always known her as the unyielding force, but she's a woman on the verge of losing herself?

Zeyla rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of the question gnawing at her. Does she want saving? she wondered. Or is she too far gone, like something that's been consumed by its own flames? The idea of leaving Noor had never crossed her mind—not for a second. But maybe we're just living in her shadow now. Her demons, her pain. Maybe that's what we're really protecting—her heart. Or whatever's left of it.

She thought of the blood on Noor's hands, the violence in her eyes that seemed so at odds with the woman who would tenderly care for the children. There's no escaping it, Zeyla concluded. This is Noor's life now. A life of destruction and salvation. And we'll follow her, no matter what it costs.

---

Back in the Estate's Courtyard

The moonlight illuminated the courtyard where Maya and Zeyla stood, silent and lost in their thoughts. The wind whispered through the trees, but it couldn't drown out the weight of their shared understanding. They'd both seen the woman Noor was—the monster she could become, and the savior she wanted to be.

Zeyla broke the silence first, her voice low and serious. "You ever think about how we got here?" she asked, almost as if testing the air. "How we ended up in this life?"

Maya didn't answer right away. She let the question settle in her chest before speaking, her words slow and deliberate. "I think about it all the time. But what's the point of wondering? We're in it now. There's no going back."

Zeyla nodded, a faint smile curving on her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, well, I suppose that's one way to look at it. But sometimes I wonder if it's more than that. What if we're not just following her? What if we're part of her?" She raised an eyebrow, daring Maya to challenge her thoughts. "Maybe we've become as much of a weapon as she is."

Maya met Zeyla's gaze, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken truths. We are part of her, Maya realized. Whether we want to be or not.

Before Maya could respond, Zeyla's expression shifted, darkening. "And what if she breaks? What happens then?"

Maya swallowed hard, the thought haunting her more than she cared to admit. She glanced up at the sky, where the stars seemed to burn brighter than usual. "I don't know," she said softly, her voice heavy with the weight of their shared commitment. "But I guess we'll just have to pick up the pieces."

The two stood together, the silence between them growing thicker. They both knew the truth. The answer had already been decided the moment they'd pledged their loyalty to Noor. No matter what, no matter how dark it became, they would stand by her side. Even if it means losing ourselves in the process.

---

Inside the grand halls of the estate, Noor sat alone, her back against the cold marble wall . The silence around her seemed to press down, as though the very weight of the estate was too much to bear. She had returned to her routine with an eerie calm, but inside, she was fractured.

She clasped her hands together, fingers trembling ever so slightly. Give me strength, she whispered, though her voice barely rose above a whisper. Give me strength to bear this burden, to carry this weight, and to protect them... to protect myself.

Her gaze fell to the floor, her mind wandering back to the faces of Zeyla and Maya. She could feel their presence, even though they were far away. They are loyal, she thought bitterly. But I am a curse. How long will they stay by my side before they see the truth? The truth of what she had become, of what she was capable of. The truth —of the darkness she could no longer escape.

The flickering of candles was the only sound in the room, a small comfort in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath her feet.

"Forgive me for the blood I've spilled," she whispered, her words barely a breath. "And for the blood I will spill again."

Noor's eyes closed, and for a brief moment, the world fell away. But the weight of her choices, the weight of everything that had come before, settled on her heart like a stone. And she knew that no matter what, it would never be enough to absolve her.

A dull hum filled the silence. Machines beeped rhythmically, the sterile scent of antiseptic thick in the air. The world felt slow, distant, as if he were floating just beneath the surface of consciousness, caught between waking and dreaming.

Sanlang's fingers twitched against crisp hospital sheets. His body felt heavy, muscles aching, as if he had fought an invisible battle and lost. His lips were dry, throat raw with an unspoken question lingering at the edge of his mind.

Then, a flicker—a memory, blurred at the edges.

A face.

Her Face .

Tears had slipped silently down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light. Her lips had moved, whispering words that should have meant nothing—but the weight of them had settled deep in his bones.

What had she said?

His chest constricted. He grasped at the memory, but it unraveled like silk in the wind, leaving behind only her eyes—that fleeting, heartbreaking moment before darkness swallowed him whole.

Sanlang's breath hitched. He forced his eyes open.

The hospital room swam into focus—white walls, the sharp scent of medicine, the quiet hum of machinery.

But none of it mattered.

Because as soon as he turned his head, the door creaked open—

And there she was.

Noor.

A quiet force . Wrapped in the cold elegance of her usual silk, her figure was poised, unshaken, yet distant—as though she were carved from something untouched by time.

Her hair cascaded down her back, not a strand out of place, and her dark eyes… they were unreadable, as always. A void he had spent years trying to peer into, only to drown in the depths of it every time.

Sanlang swallowed, struggling to push himself up, his muscles protesting at the movement. His head throbbed, but his focus was locked onto her.

"You're awake," she said simply, her voice smooth, controlled.

It was such a contrast to the way he had seen her before—vulnerable, her voice trembling with something she refused to name.

He held her gaze. "Where am I?"

"The hospital," she replied, stepping forward but not too close. "You were injured."

Sanlang's brows furrowed. "How?"

Noor's expression remained impassive. "You don't remember?"

Flashes of something flickered in his mind—pain, chaos, hands grabbing him, then nothing. His memory was a shattered mirror, sharp pieces cutting into the edges of his thoughts.

His grip on the sheets tightened. "No. The last thing I remember…" He paused. "Is you."

Noor didn't react. Didn't blink. Didn't move.

Sanlang exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. "I saw you." His voice was quieter now, rough with the weight of uncertainty. "You were crying."

A crack in the silence.

For the briefest second, something flickered in Noor's expression—an emotion too fast to catch.

Then it was gone.

"You should rest," she said, tone flat.

Sanlang clenched his jaw. He knew what he had seen. He wasn't mistaken.

"You saved me." His voice was softer now, almost questioning.

Noor's eyes met his, dark and unwavering. "You should get used to it."

A sharp pang twisted in his chest.

She was dismissing it—dismissing him.

But why?

Before he could demand an answer, Noor turned.

Her silk dress whispered against the floor as she strode toward the door, her presence slipping from the room like a shadow fading with the light.

Sanlang's pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to call out to her, make her stay, but his voice caught in his throat.

She reached for the door handle.

"Noor."

She stilled.

For a fraction of a second, he thought she would turn back—look at him, give him something to hold onto.

But she didn't.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And she was gone.

---

The silence in her wake was deafening.

Sanlang sat frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs, confusion thick in his mind.

The door swung open again.

"Oh, look who finally decided to rejoin the living."

Zeyla's voice cut through the air, dripping with sarcasm.

Maya followed behind, arms crossed, her gaze sharp.

Sanlang barely had time to process before Zeyla strode up to the bed, arms folded over her chest.

"You know," she mused, tilting her head, "for someone who's supposed to be capable, you sure do have a talent for getting yourself nearly killed."

Maya sighed, stepping closer. "It's becoming a habit at this point."

Zeyla smirked. "Maybe we should start keeping a tally. How many times has Our goddess Noor had to save your sorry ass now? Three? Four?"

Sanlang didn't answer. His head ached, his mind still tangled in the remnants of his encounter with Noor.

"You're lucky she even bothered this time." Zeyla's voice was laced with amusement, but there was something sharper beneath it. "I mean, really. Maybe next time, she'll just let you—"

Sanlang's vision blurred.

A sudden jolt of sensation—like glass shattering in his mind.

His breath stilled.

A flicker—a woman's face.

A smile.

So pure. So warm. Looking at him with a love so absolute, it hurt.

His chest constricted. His pulse quickened.

A voice—muffled, lost in the haze, yet calling to him from the depths of something buried deep.

He tried to reach for it, but the darkness pulled him under.

And then—

Nothing.

Maya leaned against the cold white wall, arms crossed, watching the faint rise and fall of Sanlang's chest through the glass window of his hospital room. His face was still, peaceful in unconsciousness, but she knew the storm inside him was far from over.

Zeyla, standing beside her, let out a sharp exhale and shook her head. "I swear, this guy has more lives than a damn cat."

Maya arched a brow. "And yet, somehow, he always manages to waste them."

Zeyla let out a dry chuckle. "It's almost impressive at this point. Noor saves him—again—and the first thing he does is get all moody about it."

Maya smirked, but her eyes held a flicker of concern. "He remembers something."

Zeyla rolled her eyes. "He always 'remembers something.' And then what? He broods, chases after Noor, gets himself into more trouble, and the cycle repeats."

Maya didn't argue. She glanced at Sanlang's sleeping form, her expression unreadable. "But this time… it's different. It wasn't just a vague feeling. He remembered her crying."

Zeyla's smirk faded slightly. "Tch." She crossed her arms. "That's… not good."

Maya nodded. "Noor dismissed it, but you saw her. It caught her off guard."

Zeyla scoffed. "She should be caught off guard. I mean, what the hell was that back there? She was the one crying over him, and now she's back to being all ice-cold like it never happened?"

Maya sighed. "You know how she is. She won't let herself—"

"She won't let him in," Zeyla interrupted. "And he's too damn stubborn to let it go."

They both fell silent for a moment.

Maya's voice softened. "Do you think it's cruel?"

Zeyla glanced at her. "Noor's coldness?"

Maya nodded.

Zeyla shrugged, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know. I used to think it was." She turned her gaze back to Sanlang. "But now? I think it's the only way she knows how to survive."

Maya exhaled, rubbing her temple. "It won't last forever."

Zeyla let out a bitter chuckle. "No. And that's the real problem, isn't it?"

They both knew—Sanlang wasn't going to stop.

The sky stretched wide and endless above the orphanage courtyard, streaked with the fading hues of twilight. The air carried the scent of fresh earth and laughter—so much laughter that Noor almost didn't recognize the sound as real.

She stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, watching a group of children engage in what could only be described as a war zone. Sticks clashed like swords, makeshift wooden shields were raised with dramatic cries, and battle strategies were whispered with the seriousness of seasoned generals.

Maya and Zeyla stood beside her, observing with amusement.

"I thought you were training them in self-defense," Maya remarked dryly.

Noor exhaled, her lips twitching ever so slightly. "Apparently, they've taken creative liberties."

A tiny warrior broke from the chaos and sprinted toward Noor, a wild gleam in his eyes. "Mother Noor!" he gasped, clutching his chest as if delivering urgent news from the front lines. "The enemy is using forbidden techniques!"

Noor arched an eyebrow. "Forbidden techniques?"

"Yes!" he declared. "They threw—" he glanced around suspiciously before whispering, "mud in my eyes."

Zeyla let out a low whistle. "Brutal."

Maya nodded sagely. "War changes people."

Noor knelt, brushing dirt off the boy's forehead. "And what do we do when faced with unfair tactics?"

He straightened his tiny shoulders. "We fight harder."

A slow, approving nod. "Good answer."

"Or," Zeyla added, smirking, "we out-cheat them."

The boy's eyes widened in scandalized delight before he bolted back into the fray, his energy renewed.

Maya sighed, watching the chaos unfold. "They're supposed to be learning discipline."

"They are," Noor said, tilting her head as two children attempted to ambush an older boy with a coordinated attack. "Strategy. Teamwork. Adaptability."

"Brutality," Zeyla added.

"And mud-throwing," Maya muttered.

The thought almost made Noor smile.

She had spent weeks trying to find her footing again after everything—after Sanlang, after the battles that had left her body aching, after the silence of her prayers. But here, in the shouts and laughter of the children, there was a fleeting sense of normalcy.

A loud cry rang out as the smallest child somehow took down the tallest, sending a wave of cheers through the courtyard. Noor watched them scramble back to their feet, dirt-streaked and grinning.

She turned to Maya and Zeyla. "Get ready."

Zeyla blinked. "For what?"

Noor rolled her shoulders, the weight of exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "They need a real opponent."

Maya's eyes widened in horror. "Madam Noor, no."

But it was too late. Noor strode forward, untying the silk belt at her waist, her expression unreadable.

A hush fell over the battlefield. The children froze. Then, one by one, they turned to face their new enemy.

Zeyla shook her head, grinning. "Well… it was nice knowing them."

And then, with a single raised hand, Noor gave the order.

"Come."

The courtyard erupted into chaos, war cries filling the air as every child launched themselves at her.

Maya sighed. "Should we help?"

Zeyla smirked. "No. This is their lesson now."

And as Noor dodged, flipped, and effortlessly evaded each tiny warrior, the laughter that filled the night was no longer just from the children.

__________________

Sanlang lay still, his breaths measured, his body relaxed—but his mind? It was anything but calm.

He felt her the moment she entered.

Soft, careful footsteps. The faint rustle of silk. The scent of something delicate—jasmine and rain, a scent that had burned itself into his very soul.

She's here again.

He should be asleep. He should let her believe he was asleep.

Because if he didn't… he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

Sanlang resisted the urge to open his eyes, to drink in the sight of her. Instead, he focused on the warmth that always came with her presence, the way the air itself seemed to change when she was near.

A pause. Then, the lightest touch against his forehead.

His heart stuttered.

She kissed me.

It was featherlight, fleeting—like the whisper of a dream, gone before he could even grasp it. Yet, it sent a shiver down his spine, an ache so deep it almost hurt.

He wanted to reach out, to catch her wrist, to make her stay.

Then, her fingers—soft, trembling—brushed against his hair, smoothing it away from his face with such unbearable tenderness that his resolve nearly cracked.

Sanlang felt his throat tighten.

She thinks I don't know. She thinks I never feel it—the way she lingers, the way her touch trembles, the way she holds her breath when she's this close.

GOD, how badly he wanted to pull her down, to bury his face in the curve of her neck, to breathe her in, to keep her against him and never let go.

But instead, he stayed still.

He waited.

And when she finally moved to leave, he did the only thing he could do.

Gently, carefully, he shifted in his sleep—just enough for his arm to fall around her waist, pulling her down against his chest.

Noor froze.

Sanlang felt her breath hitch, her entire body stiffening like a startled deer caught in the quiet hush of dawn.

She was warm. Too warm. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, the heat radiating off her skin. The way her hands, so small against him, hovered uncertainly before settling against his chest.

And then—

A shiver.

She's blushing.

Sanlang swallowed hard, fighting the smirk threatening to betray him.

Her ears were red. He was sure of it.

She shifted slightly, her breath coming out in shallow, uneven whispers, and GOD—she had no idea what she was doing to him.

His hand flexed against the curve of her waist.

She fits.

She always fit.

Noor let out the smallest, softest breath—one he never would have caught had she not been pressed so close.

Then, slowly, carefully, she made to move away.

Sanlang held on.

A barely-there whimper escaped her lips, and he nearly lost himself right then and there.

So, he pretended.

Pretended to shift in his sleep, letting his arm tighten just slightly, nuzzling ever so subtly against her temple.

Noor went impossibly still.

Ah.

Even without seeing her, he could picture it—the way her lashes fluttered, the way her lips parted in quiet surprise, the way the heat spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

He could drown in this.

Sanlang exhaled softly, his heartbeat thrumming in time with hers.

She didn't move.

Didn't push him away.

Didn't run.

And so, with his lips a breath away from her hair, his arms wrapped securely around her, and his heart a tangled mess of love and longing—

He let her believe he was asleep.