Book 1: Chapter 16 – Act of Selflessness

Realising he couldn't go through with it, Jabari turned away from the fallen enforcer. His legs trembled beneath him, and his vision blurred at the edges, but he forced himself forward. The only thing keeping him upright was the dwindling surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins – a fragile lifeline against the blood loss that sapped his strength with every step.

He had barely taken three strides when the familiar prickling sensation returned, sharp and undeniable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

This time, however, he knew he wouldn't be able to react in time.

A cold dread seized him. He didn't know who or what was behind him, but at that moment, he swore he could feel the icy kiss of death's scythe grazing his neck.

His body tensed instinctively – a futile, last-ditch effort to protect himself from the inevitable.

However, the killing blow never came. Instead, the metallic clang of colliding blades shattered the oppressive silence.

Jabari twisted around, eyes wide. Standing before him was Lateef – Heba's scimitar-wielding guard – his curved blade effortlessly holding back the strike of another assailant.

Jabari's heart skipped a beat as he recognised the attacker.

It was the guard who had led them through the main settlement the day of the aptitude assessment.

"My lord! You're here! Please save me!" the enforcer on the ground gasped, clutching his chest as he stared desperately at his would-be saviour.

The guard didn't even spare him a glance. His full attention was locked on Lateef, eyes narrowing as his blade trembled against the older warrior's calm, unyielding defence.

"It's you?" Jabari's voice cracked with disbelief. "You're the other person trying to kill me?!"

The guard didn't respond. His jaw clenched as he shifted his stance, trying to push Lateef back. But no matter how much force he applied, the scimitar remained steadfast.

'I swung with everything I had...

Both hands…

Full power...' the guard thought, panic creeping into his chest. 'And he blocked me with one hand...

Effortlessly.'

Swallowing hard, he took a cautious step back, forcing a smile. "L-let's not be hasty here," he said, adopting a conciliatory tone. "This isn't personal. If you let me kill the brat who offended my mother, I promise the Umeme Tribe will reward you handsomely."

Lateef's expression remained the picture of indifference. "Scram."

The single word, spoken with casual indifference, carried more weight than any threat.

The guard's face flushed with anger. The veins at his temple pulsed as he fought to keep his composure. "Surely we can talk about this. I mean, offending my mother is one thing – but offending the Umeme Tribe? I can't imagine you'd risk that for some slum rat-"

Lateef moved.

Jabari's enhanced eyes tried to follow the motion, but the blade blurred into nothingness. One second, the scimitar was locked against the guard's weapon; the next, it was sliding back into its sheath with a whisper-soft click.

The guard froze mid-sentence.

A thin red line appeared across his throat. His eyes bulged in confusion. His sword snapped in two, the broken tip clattering to the ground. A heartbeat later, his head separated from his shoulders and rolled across the dirt. His body crumpled lifelessly beside it.

"Even if your Tribe's Patriarch were standing here," Lateef muttered, stepping over the corpse without a second glance, "the result would've been the same."

Jabari swayed on his feet, eyes locked on the blood pooling beneath the guard's remains. His breath caught in his throat. Lateef's presence had saved him, but the realisation of just how close he'd come to death left him dizzy.

The scimitar-wielding warrior strode toward him and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You did well," Lateef said simply.

The words barely registered. The last threads of adrenaline slipped from Jabari's body, and the world tilted around him. His knees buckled. Lateef caught him effortlessly, cradling the unconscious boy in one arm as though he weighed nothing.

The stoic guard gazed down at Jabari, surprise flashing briefly across his normally impassive face.

"It's hard to believe this boy grew up in a slum with no formal training," Lateef murmured to himself as he recalled the fight he'd observed from the shadows.

Jabari's movements had been raw and unrefined, but his reactions were exceptional. The speed with which he adjusted his positioning to avoid fatal strikes was beyond what Lateef expected from someone his age. His instinct to endure injury if it meant gaining the upper hand revealed a level of resolve many seasoned warriors lacked.

But what stood out most was his willpower.

Lateef was no stranger to the battlefield. He'd seen grown men break at the prospect of injury or death. Yet this boy, despite his inexperience, had consciously accepted wounds to stay in the fight. It was a rare, invaluable trait.

'The only mistake he made was leaving his opponent alive,' Lateef thought, his gaze flicking briefly toward the wounded enforcer sprawled in the dirt. 'But that's something he'll learn in time.'

Adjusting Jabari's weight on his shoulder, Lateef turned and walked toward the settlement, leaving the surviving enforcer behind without a second thought.

'Your instincts were right again, Your Highness,' Lateef mused as he vanished into the shadows.

Behind him, the blood-soaked path lay silent – except for the faint, laboured breathing of the man Jabari had spared.

…

"Huh... where am I?" Jabari mumbled as he stirred awake, blinking away the grogginess clouding his mind. His eyes roamed the unfamiliar space, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

The last memory he recalled was Lateef – his blade a silver blur – decapitating the guard with terrifying ease. Everything about that moment had left Jabari shaken: the sheer speed of the strike, the warrior's cold indifference, and, above all, the words he'd uttered afterward.

"Even if it were your Tribe's Patriarch stood here, it'd end the same way."

That was when Jabari grasped the truth: power was everything. With enough strength, the impossible became possible.

"You're really taking advantage of your newfound ability to sleep, aren't you?" Heba's familiar, honeyed voice drifted through the air, pulling his attention toward her.

Jabari turned his head to find her sitting beside the bed, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"How long have I been out this time?" he asked, ignoring her teasing as he stroked Inayah's soft hair. His little sister lay curled up beside him, breathing peacefully. "And where exactly are we?"

He glanced around. The room, though compact, was lined with polished wood, and the faint, rhythmic creaking beneath him suggested movement.

"A little over three days," Heba replied. "And I wouldn't try sitting up just yet-"

Jabari grunted in pain as he attempted to rise, the sharp sting in his torso forcing him back onto the mattress.

"... yeah, that." Heba shook her head with a sigh. "Your injuries looked worse than they were, but you still won't be moving around properly for a few more days."

"Will I be okay for the assessment?" Jabari asked, voice tight with urgency.

Heba's gaze softened slightly. "It took a lot out of me, using so many healing spells and a fair share of expensive drugs," she admitted. "But if you follow my instructions and rest, you'll be good as new by the time the selection starts."

"Spells?" Jabari's eyes widened. "You're a mage too?"

Heba chuckled softly. "You didn't think Aten was the only one, did you?" She raised her hand, and a gentle azure light shimmered around her slender fingers. The glow pulsed with a soothing warmth that Jabari could almost feel even without touching it.

"There are spells for healing as well?" Jabari asked, unable to hide his awe as he stared at her radiant hand.

"Magic isn't so one-dimensional," Heba replied, the corners of her lips lifting with pride. "It's not all fireballs and lightning strikes. There are plenty of supportive applications – healing, enhancements, detection. Healing magic just happens to be my speciality."

Jabari nodded slowly, his admiration genuine. She had every right to be proud; after all, without her skills, he might not have survived.

His gaze dropped to Inayah's peaceful face. Once reassured that she was sleeping soundly, he shifted his attention back to Heba.

"Was Lateef following me the entire time when I went back to the slums?" he asked.

Heba's expression didn't change, but she gave a slight nod.

Jabari's jaw tightened. "Why didn't he help when the enforcer first cornered me? I could've died!"

"I instructed him to protect you," Heba said calmly. "But Lateef said he needed to see if you were worth my trust."

Jabari's breath caught. "What if I couldn't defeat the enforcer?"

"Then he likely would've watched you die." Heba's tone was devoid of sympathy. "And Inayah would've been left brotherless."

Jabari's fists clenched beneath the blanket. His heart pounded in his chest as a surge of anger shot through him. "I thought we were on the same side," he said through gritted teeth. "I thought-"

"Don't misunderstand," Heba cut in coldly, her eyes hardening in a way Jabari had never seen before. "We're not your babysitters."

The warmth that usually radiated from her vanished, replaced by an icy detachment that sent a chill down his spine.

"I promised to care for Inayah for the next two years," she continued, her voice razor-sharp. "And I will. Whether you succeed in finding a cure or die trying doesn't change that."

Jabari swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. He met her gaze with the same cold resolve she projected. "So, if I were to die tomorrow, you promise to make sure she lives the rest of her life as comfortably as possible?"

"You have my word."

He studied her face, searching for the slightest crack, the faintest flicker of insincerity. Yet, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he believed her.

He turned back to Inayah and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. His expression softened momentarily before hardening into steel. "My little sister is my pride and joy.

If I ever find out you've harmed her, I don't care what Tribe you come from or who your parents are." His hand didn't stop its gentle stroking, but his voice dipped into a lethal calm. "I promise you a fate far worse than death."

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Heba's breath caught for half a second as the hairs on her neck stood on end. She didn't sense bravado in his words, only an unyielding, terrifying sincerity.

Then, just as easily as it had vanished, her warm, melodic tone returned. "Now, now...

There's no need for such hostility," she said, offering a serene smile. "Especially after I helped you get rid of those nasty nightmares."

The tension shattered like fragile glass beneath the weight of her effortless charm.

Jabari didn't respond. He just kept stroking Inayah's hair while his mind raced, caught between the warmth of Heba's words and the cold truth lurking beneath them.

It was then that Jabari remembered the burning questions he still hadn't had answered – how she seemed to know about the consequences of failing to endure the pain from getting over his nightmares. "That day in the courtyard, how di-"

Before he could finish, Inayah stirred beside him. Her eyes fluttered open, and just like that, the moment was lost.

Jabari's gaze flicked to Heba. She responded with an innocent shrug and a helpless smile, as though Inayah's sudden awakening had nothing to do with her.

He had been watching her closely. He hadn't seen her do anything particular. Still, it was too much of a coincidence. If he hadn't known better, he would've sworn she'd woken Inayah on purpose to avoid answering his question.

The next forty-eight hours passed much the same way: Jabari resting in the back of the carriage with Heba and Inayah as Lateef periodically left to hunt for food. But despite his repeated efforts, Jabari never managed to get another private moment with Heba.

On the surface, it looked like sheer bad luck. Every time she sat alone, Jabari would seize the opportunity to approach her, only for something to get in the way. If it wasn't Inayah waking, it was Aten or Lateef wandering over to ask her a question. Another time, a wild animal startled the horses, only to be swiftly dispatched by the guards.

Coincidences, maybe. But Jabari didn't buy it.

'She's definitely doing this on purpose,' he thought grimly.

With his curiosity stonewalled, Jabari devoted his free time to two things: spending time with Inayah when she was awake and practising with his spirit when she was asleep.

He quickly discovered several crucial details about his newfound ability.

When channelling his spirit into his brain alone, his thought-processing speed doubled, allowing him to think faster and react more instinctively. He could maintain that state for just over an hour before feeling completely drained. For now, that was more than enough.

Enhancing one of his senses – sight, hearing, touch, taste, or smell – yielded similar results. Whichever sense he focused on became twice as sharp, but the strain was far greater. After about fifteen to twenty minutes, the energy would sputter out, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted.

The one thing he never dared to attempt again was distributing his spirit across all five senses simultaneously. The last time he'd tried that, the excruciating pain had nearly killed him. He decided he would only revisit that technique once his control improved.

Another unexpected discovery came when he enhanced his brain: his memories sharpened to near-perfect clarity – at least, the memories from the past ten years. Events he'd once recalled in fragments suddenly unfolded like vivid scenes from a storybook. But anything before that remained a hazy blur.

His earliest memory was still the day he found Inayah. That moment didn't require his spirit to recall; it had been etched into his soul from the very start.

He had been wandering through the slums that day, lost in the thick fog of his own misery. The nightmares had been relentless, leaving him numb and disconnected from the world around him. He couldn't remember how long he'd walked, only that the sharp, desperate cries of a baby had shattered his daze.

Jabari wasn't the only one who heard the cries. Others passed by with little more than a disinterested glance. The slums weren't a place where people extended compassion without reason. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, that sound – the raw anguish of that tiny, helpless voice – drew him in.

He followed the sound to a small, rickety wooden hut with walls barely held together by splintered planks and old rope. Inside, he found her: a tiny, wriggling baby swaddled in a thin scrap of cloth, her cheeks streaked with tears.

Beside her sat a woman slumped against a log, her vacant eyes staring into nothing. Her breast was exposed, positioned near the infant's mouth, though there was no milk to give.

Jabari had frozen in place. It was the first time he'd seen a dead body. He hadn't known what death was back then, only that the woman's skin was cold, and she wouldn't wake up.

Years later, he came to understand what had happened. The woman had likely died of malnutrition, sacrificing her own nourishment in a futile attempt to feed her child.

That image haunted Jabari. The mother's selflessness, her silent sacrifice, became an anchor during his darkest moments. Whenever he felt the pull of despair, when the crushing weight of the nightmares made him consider giving up, that memory resurfaced: the sight of a mother who gave her life for her child without hesitation.

He had no idea who she was, but her act of love, etched into that moment of sacrifice, became the fire that fuelled his resolve.

Whenever he doubted himself, whenever the path ahead seemed insurmountable, he would think of that day. And

For Inayah. For the mother who had entrusted her to the world with her dying breath. For the future he swore to build, no matter the cost, he would push forward.