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The council chamber of Fang was alive with warmth in a way Raya had never expected.
Lantern light spilled in a soft gold across the carved walls; the late sun glimmering on polished stone.
Moments ago, the table was heavy with fruit and tea sat between them, but now it was scattered with maps and scrolls.
No tension hung between any of them, which Raya had come to heavily appreciate. Virana’s voice carried smoothly across the chamber.
“I’m thinking of a festival,” she said, tapping one manicured finger against the parchment. “To honor Kumandra’s renewal. Food from every land, music, games. A gathering where borders mean nothing.”
Benja’s grin was immediate, broad as the river. “Now that’s the sort of politics I can get behind. Let the children see the dragon dancers, let the grown folk eat themselves sick. It’ll remind people what we’ve fought for.”
Namaari, lounging with deceptive ease in her chair, flicked a dried lychee pit at him, teasingly. “Of course you’d only care about the food, Benja.”
Her smirk softened the words, and laughter stirred at the table. Raya couldn’t help it, her own lips twitching upward, traitorous, before she ducked her head to hide it.
Now this, this easy banter, this almost-family harmony, was something she hadn’t thought possible a year ago.
For so long, Fang had been a rival; a name that stuck with Raya and stung like a blade. Yet here she was, seated beside Namaari as though the world had always been whole.
And maybe, if she let herself believe it, she was glad of it.
The conversation drifted, as light and flowing as the tea that pooled in their cups. Benja teased Virana about her “logistics obsession,” Namaari recounted how one of her soldiers had mistaken a fruit cart for a weapons caravan, and Virana rolled her eyes as she started to pack some of the scrolls away.
Raya sat listening, speaking when spoken to, letting the warmth of it all seep into her bones.
It felt safe.
Too safe, maybe.
Because the knock that came next at the chamber doors broke their bubble like a pebble breaking glass.
“Enter,” Virana called in response.
The door creaked open, admitting a tall figure in Fang’s white and gold.
He was young, barely older than Namaari, if that, yet he carried himself with the rigid precision that Fang demanded. His uniform was spotless, crest gleaming, hair tied neatly back. He bowed low, one hand pressed to his chest, the other wrapped around a sealed scroll.
“Chief Virana,” he said, voice respectful. “A message from the northern patrol.”
Virana inclined her head, serene as ever. “Thank you, Kavi.” She gestured toward the table. “Come. Don’t stand at the threshold like a shadow. Meet our guests properly.”
Kavi obeyed, stepping into the warm light of the chamber. His expression was carefully neutral as his gaze moved around the table.
Benja greeted him first, gentle and welcoming as always. “Nice to meet you, Kavi. It’s good to have you with us.“
A flicker of a smile touched Kavi’s lips, polite but brief. He gave a small bow in return.
Namaari leaned back in her chair, her voice casual. “Kavi’s been serving on the northern border for the last two years. Loyal, skilled. He’s earned his place here.” Pride edged her tone; to Raya, it sounded almost rehearsed, the sort of praise a leader offered her people.
Then his gaze found her.
The air shifted.
Raya’s smile drained before she realised it had gone. The light in the chamber dimmed, though the lanterns still burned bright.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick.
She had no name for the vertigo that clawed through her chest, only that every instinct screamed: not safe, not safe, not safe.
Namaari rose slightly in her seat, casual, oblivious. “Ah, and as you probably already know, this is Princess Raya, of Hea—”
Her words trailed off when she glanced back at her.
Raya’s face had gone pale, her lips pressed tight, eyes wide and fixed on Kavi as if he’d drawn a blade.
The world narrowed to Kavi’s stare and the soundless roar in Raya’s ears. Her palms dampened against the table, trembling.
“Dep la?” Namaari’s voice was low now, sharp with concern. “Are you—”
Raya pushed herself upright before the room could collapse around her.
“Excuse me,” she managed, voice strained and thin, as a reed in the wind.
She stumbled back from the table, the legs of her chair screeching against stone.
Without looking at anyone, or without daring to, she turned and strode for the door, each step too quick, too uneven. By the time the door closed behind her, her breath was already breaking into gasps.
The chamber stayed frozen. Benja half-rose in alarm, eyes darting between the remaining faces. Virana’s expression had shifted to something unreadable, her gaze lingering on Kavi, who stood stiff as stone.
But Namaari didn’t wait.
She shoved her chair back, the sound harsh in the stunned quiet, and hastily followed Raya out the door without another word.
The corridors of Fang twisted with pale stone and small banners, but Namaari barely saw them. Her boots struck hard and fast against the floor, heart in her throat.
What just happened?
She replayed the moment in the chamber, Raya’s face gone pale, eyes wide with fear. The way she’d stumbled from the table as though something had cut her open.
Was it me?
The thought lanced through her. Had she said something wrong? Pushed too hard in her teasing? Maybe the old rivalries still lingered deeper in Raya’s chest than she’d admitted. Maybe sitting here in Fang, surrounded by their banners, their soldiers, their crests, it had been too much.
Or worse, had Raya’s fear been for her?
Namaari’s pulse spiked. The idea made her stomach twist. After everything, the bridge, the gem, the chance they’d rebuilt together, could Raya still look at her and see an enemy?
“No,” Namaari muttered under her breath, fierce, as though saying it aloud could make it true. “No, it wasn’t me.”
But the certainty wouldn’t hold. The image of Raya’s trembling hands burned behind her eyes, and doubt gnawed with every step she took.
She turned another corner, breath sharp. She had to find Raya. Had to know.
She turned one corner, then another, ignoring startled guards, until instinct led her toward the guest chambers. Raya’s door stood closed, its surface smooth, unyielding. Namaari rapped her knuckles against it, sharp but not unkind.
“Raya?” Her voice was steadier than she felt. “It’s me.”
No answer.
She tried again, softer. “Dep la… open the door. Talk to me.”
Still nothing. Just silence pressing back at her.
Her chest tightened. She hesitated only a breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the dying glow of a single lantern. At first glance the room was empty, too still. But then, Namaari’s eyes caught movement in the corner.
Raya.
She was curled into herself, wedged between a piece of furniture and the wall, hands clamped over her ears. Her whole body shook, tremors racking through her frame. Her face was blotched with tears.
Namaari’s stomach plummeted. She crossed the room at once, dropping to a knee. “Raya? Hey, hey. It’s me.”
Raya’s head jerked up, eyes wide, unfocused. Her lips trembled.
“I’m here.” Namaari’s voice came out softer than she expected, almost breaking under the weight of it.
She reached out, instinctively, wanting to ground her, to offer touch as proof, but Raya’s scream split through the air before her fingers even brushed close.
She recoiled hard, curling tighter into herself, pressing her forehead to her knees as though the world itself was closing in.
Namaari froze. Her hand hovered, useless, before she drew it back slow and deliberate, as though retreating from a wound. Her chest felt hollow and sharp all at once.
“Shit, sorry dep la,” she murmured, steadying her voice. “No touching. I promise, I won’t.”
She shifted back, settling onto the floor a careful distance away. Close enough to be near, far enough not to threaten. She folded her knees up, resting her arms on them, forcing herself to appear calm when her blood screamed otherwise.
“I’m here, dep la, just here. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.”
Raya’s sobs cracked through the stillness like glass under strain, uneven and desperate, her breaths stumbling out in shallow bursts. Namaari kept her voice low, steady, though her own pulse hammered like a war drum.
She didn’t move closer. Not yet. She simply stayed, grounding her words against the jagged tide of Raya’s panic.
“It’s just you and me,” she whispered. “No one else. Nothing else. You’re safe, dep la.”
It took time, long minutes that dragged like hours, but slowly, Raya’s body loosened from its rigid curl. Her hands slipped from her ears, her shaking breaths hiccupping into silence broken only by the faint rattle of her lungs.
Namaari waited, every muscle screaming to do something, until finally, tentatively, she reached out once more.
This time, when her fingers brushed Raya’s wrist, Raya flinched slightly, but didn’t pull away.
“I’ve got you, Raya,” Namaari breathed. “We’re just here. It’s just me.”
She guided Raya’s trembling hand, gently, carefully, until she pressed it over her own chest, against the steady pulse that was her heartbeat beneath her uniform.
“Feel that? Breathe with me, dep la. Slow. In, and out. Just like that. You’re safe.”
Raya’s chest heaved, catching at first, but she clung to the rhythm beneath her palm. Namaari counted her own breaths aloud until, gradually, Raya’s jagged inhales evened, her sobs dwindling into shivers.
When she finally looked up, her eyes were swollen and wet, lashes clumped with tears. Shame flickered there, raw and unguarded. She jerked her hand back, pulling it into her lap like it burned.
“I’m sorry,” Raya said quickly, too quickly. Her voice rasped. “This happens sometimes. Since after the Druun. Panic attacks. That’s all.” She swallowed hard, forcing steadiness she didn’t have. “The talk about the festival, it just got me a little overwhelmed. It was nothing.”
“Nothing?” Namaari’s tone sharpened despite herself. “Raya, that was not nothing. Are you sure that—”
“It was nothing.” Raya cut her off, her gaze slipping away. Her cheeks burned, humiliated. “I just, overreacted. I’m overtired. I’ll be fine after some sleep.” She forced a brittle smile, one that didn’t touch her eyes. “Thank you for helping me. Really.”
The dismissal was clear.
Namaari’s jaw clenched, words fighting to surface, but Raya was already rising, tugging at the ends of her hair with shaking hands, preparing for bed.
A signal. A boundary.
She wasn’t going to say more tonight.
With reluctance coiled heavy in her gut, Namaari pushed herself to her feet. She hesitated at the threshold, her hand resting against the frame. “Okay, dep la, if you’re sure,” she said quietly, not looking back. “Just, make sure to get some sleep, okay? Come find me if you need anything.”
Raya nodded in agreement, and the door clicked softly behind her.
That night, sleep eluded Namaari. The palace around her sank into silence, but Namaari lay rigid beneath the covers, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s shifting shadows.
Every time she blinked, the memory returned in brutal clarity. Raya, curled in the corner of her bed chambers, trembling, her tears glinting in the lantern’s dim light. The echo of her broken sobs clung to Namaari’s ears, sharper than any blade she’d ever faced.
She pressed her fists into the sheets, knuckles whitening. Never before had she felt so powerless. Not on a battlefield, nor in council. The image of Raya’s panic attack was now burrowed beneath her skin, lodging in her chest like a thorn she could neither pull free nor ignore.
Whatever that was, it was not nothing. And she was going to figure it out, one way or another.
The days that followed passed in a haze that Raya tried to convince herself was normal. She forced a smile at meals, but more often than not, the food remained untouched on her plate. A bite of fruit here, a sip of tea there, and always accompanied by a casual excuse. She wasn’t hungry, that she’d eaten earlier, etcetera.
She thought she was subtle. She thought no one would notice.
Namaari noticed.
She noticed when Raya sat at the far edge of the dining table, as though distance could shield her. She noticed the way Raya flinched, however slightly, when a servant brushed past her chair. Even the brief clasp of a hand in greeting drew a sharp recoil before Raya caught herself and smoothed it over with a brittle laugh.
Raya’s paranoia bled into everything. The way her eyes lingered too long on doorways, the way her shoulders tightened at the sound of boots in the hall. She spoke little, choosing silence over her usual sharp wit, and when she did speak, her words carried the hollow ring of someone playing a part.
Namaari tried, at first, to reach her gently. Jokes to cheer her up, an invitation to spar when she had time. She had made sure to keep up with asking if Raya was well-rested, had eaten, or if she needed anything at all. And every time, just like clockwork, Raya deflected with a smile too thin to be convincing.
“I’m fine, ‘Maari, really. Just overtired.”
“I’ve already eaten. It’s nothing, really!”
“I promise I’m okay dep la, please stop worrying.”
The more she brushed it off, the more it ate at Namaari. She wanted to believe Raya, dragons, she wanted to, but the memory of that night lingered like smoke.
Raya wouldn’t have just collapsed in her room, clutching her ears and sobbing like the world was ending if she was truly fine.
By the end of the week, Namaari’s patience had frayed as thin as silk. Her worry had grown fangs, curling into something sharper, something restless.
She told herself to be understanding. Patient. That Raya would come to her in time, that pressing too hard would only drive her farther away.
But patience had it’s limits. Each time she caught sight of Raya’s trembling hands, or the way she flinched from even the lightest touch, the knot of helpless fury twisted tighter in her chest.
And by the time they met in the training hall, Namaari’s restraint was worn paper-thin.
Steel kissed steel in a bright, ringing clash that echoed through the practice hall. Raya twisted, her movements quick and fluid, forcing Namaari back a step before the Fang princess countered with a clean parry, nearly knocking the blade from Raya’s hand.
Their sparring had always been a dance of sorts; precise, sharp, with just enough edge to make the heart race. Today, though, the rhythm faltered.
Raya’s breath was ragged, her shoulders hunched wearily. Sweat slicked her brow far earlier than it should have, each strike slower, each step heavier.
Namaari noticed, of course. Every hesitation, every pause before the next strike sent irritation crawling under her skin. Not at Raya, but at the problem that was gnawing her hollow.
“Your guard’s slipping,” Namaari warned, voice steady but sharper than she intended. Her blade swept in low; Raya blocked too late, the impact shuddering through her arms.
“You’re just getting better at this,” Raya panted, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She lunged again, but her swing lacked conviction.
Deflecting. Always deflecting. The words were grated now like grit in Namaari’s teeth.
They pressed on for another exchange, steel flashing in the light. Then Raya faltered on her footing, stumbling back with a wince. Namaari lowered her weapon at once, chest tight.
“Enough.” She reached for the water gourd at the edge of the mat and tossed it over. “You’re going to collapse if you keep pretending you’re at full strength.”
Raya caught it, taking a quick swig of it before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fine, ‘maari, I swear it,” she said again, the same brittle lie she’d been clinging to all week.
But the sight of her, cheeks hollowed from missed meals, eyes shadowed from sleepless nights, wasn’t nothing. Not to Namaari.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their uneven breathing. Finally, Namaari set her blade down with a deliberate clatter. “Dep la,” she said, voice low, almost pleading. “You can be honest with me, Raya. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Raya froze, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Then, almost too quickly, she forced a laugh. “Maybe I caught something on the travel over. I’ll sleep it off, i’m sure.”
Yeah, sleep it off. As though that would explain her trembling hands, the way she flinched from even the lightest touch.
Namaari’s jaw clenched. Frustration warred with helplessness until her voice came out tighter than she meant. “Don’t you trust me, Raya? You’re breaking yourself apart, and you expect me to just watch? I cannot just—”
The door creaked open, and a guard stepped in, bowing quickly. “Princess Raya, Chief Benja requests your presence.”
Relief flickered across Raya’s face like an escape hatch thrown open. She sheathed her blade, nodding once, too brisk. “Tell him I’ll be there immediately.”
She glanced back at Namaari, offering a smile that looked more like surrender than reassurance. “I’ll see you later.”
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Namaari rooted to the mat, sword heavy in her hand, fury and worry burning like twin fires in her chest.
Raya’s retreating footsteps still echoed in her skull long after the training hall had fallen silent. Namaari remained where she stood, jaw tight, hands curling into fists at her sides.
She had tried restraint. She had tried gentleness, coaxing Raya with soft words and patient silences. She had tried waiting, hoping Raya might come to her in her own time. But now?
Now Raya was slipping through her fingers, thinner and paler with each passing day, shadows growing deeper beneath her eyes.
She brushed it all aside with a smile too strained, excuses too brittle. Illness, fatigue, bad dreams. Lies meant to soothe. Lies meant to keep her at a distance.
Namaari could bear many things: hunger on the border campaigns, cold nights on the stone floors of Fang, even the weight of her people’s doubt. But not this. Not watching Raya unravel in front of her while pretending nothing was wrong.
She stalked through the palace corridors, boots striking sharp against stone. Servants and guards alike stepped quickly out of her path. Her breath came fast, heart pounding, though with what,?anger, fear, guilt, she couldn’t decide.
If Raya would not tell her the truth, then she would find it elsewhere.
And she already knew where to look.
Kavi.
The name sat bitter on her tongue. She hadn’t missed the way Raya froze when he entered the council chamber, nor the way his own expression faltered under her stare. She had told herself, at first, that she was imagining it. That it was coincidence. That she was desperate for answers and was grasping at nothing.
But every time Raya flinched from a hand that reached too close, every time she barely touched her food, every time her laugh fell flat and fragile, Namaari thought of Kavi’s silence when Raya left. His stiffness, his avoidance.
She rounded another corner sharply, each step taken fuelled with anger and determination.
Kavi lingered near the training yard, exchanging quick words and nods with his fellow soldiers. It looked like nothing more than a routine farewell, a moment before he retreated to the stables to finish his evening duties.
His gaze flicked up for a moment, and he froze.
Namaari stepped into view, her expression tight, eyes locked on him. For a fraction of a second, his composure faltered.
Then, as if his instinct alone could save him, he bolted.
“Great,” Namaari muttered under her breath, and took off after him, boots pounding against the stone.
The wind whipped past her face as she closed the distance, determination coiling through her like a living thing.
Namaari sprinted into the stables, boots kicking up stray straw, and skidded to a halt just as Kavi rounded the corner of a stall. His eyes widened the moment he saw her, and he froze for just a second too long, seizing his chance to make another run for it.
“Motherfucker,” Namaari spat, grabbing his shoulder just as he reached the far wall, spinning him to face her. His breath came fast, ragged, and his eyes darted everywhere but at her.
“Kavi,” she said, voice low but sharp enough to slice the quiet of the stables. “Don’t even think about running from me again. ”
He jerked away, eyes wide, jaw tight. “I… I don’t know what you mean,” he managed, though the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
Namaari’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t hide behind your uniforms and your loyalty. Both you and Raya have been out of it since your encounter in Fang’s council chamber. Something happened, and I need to know what.”
Kavi’s face drained of color. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I… I didn’t—nothing happened. You’re imagining it.”
“No,” Namaari growled, stepping closer, boots scraping against the floor. “I don’t imagine fear like hers. Don’t think I’ll let this slide.”
He swallowed hard, the rigid posture of a soldier crumbling, but he still said nothing. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, each word failing to form. “I… I don’t—”
“You do know,” Namaari pressed, voice low and sharp. “I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it. Say it, Kavi. Tell me the fucking truth, and don’t push your luck.”
He flinched at her intensity, sweat prickling his brow. For a moment, he was silent, trembling, before he gave in and started mumbling, “…Gods, I thought I’d never see her again. I.. wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Namaari’s pulse hammered. “Not thinking clearly isn’t enough. Tell me exactly what you mean.”
Kavi’s gaze fell to the floor. His shoulders slumped, hands fidgeting. “..It was wrong. I didn’t—she…”
“I was only sixteen. I didn’t mean to, I just—” His words stuttered and died, broken by shame.
Namaari’s eyes narrowed. “Only sixteen? Kavi, what did you do to her?”
He gave no reply, head bowed, fingers digging into his hair, a low, ragged breath escaping him.
Namaari clenched her jaw. “Kavi. Look at me. Say it. I need to understand.”
His head jerked back up, breath ragged. “…I… thought that I could.. oh it doesn’t matter now. I just didn’t think and I…regret it.”
Namaari felt sick.
Kavi’s shoulders jerked, and a sharp hiss escaped his lips. His hands went to his temples, pressing hard as his knees buckled slightly.
“Damn it,” he muttered, voice tight and strained. “My head, it’s..” He groaned, staggering. The tension in his jaw, the sweat slicking his brow, and the tremor in his hands made it clear the guilt had triggered something far worse than panic.
Namaari was immediately at his side, steadying him. “Kavi, stop fighting it. You need help.”
“I… I can’t—” he wheezed, teeth clenched.
“Yes, you can,” she snapped, though her voice was controlled, measured. “Come with me, to the healer. Now.”
He let her support him, leaning heavily into her grip. Each step was labored, each breath ragged, but Namaari didn’t loosen her hold. Her mind raced, piecing together the fragments he had given her, each one sharpening her dread.
By the time they reached the healer’s room, Kavi was pale, swaying, sweat soaking his uniform. Namaari guided him to a chair, helping him sit, and didn’t move until the healer arrived to take over.
Once the door closed behind them, Namaari stepped into the corridor, pressing a hand to her forehead as if that could steady the storm inside her. Her stomach turned, twisting with a mixture of fear, anger, and helplessness.
‘Surely it can’t be true,’ she thought, jaw tight, fists clenched at her sides. ‘I have to be misreading this. Right?’
She couldn’t wait to find out.
Namaari lingered outside Raya’s chambers, jaw tight, stomach twisted. She didn’t know what had happened, and she refused to assume; refused to leap to conclusions.
But that made it worse.
Her trust in Kavi felt shattered in an instant, and with it, a certainty she had relied on for years.
Her own judgment felt suddenly so unreliable. How could she have missed something? How could she have been so wrong?
The memory of the druun pressed in at the edges of her mind, how her choices had contributed to six years of Raya’s struggle, how much she had already owed the girl in trust and care.
Raya had forgiven her long ago, and yet Namaari felt the same gnawing responsibility, sharpened now by fear and disbelief.
It all made her sick to her stomach.
She didn’t want to confront Raya and have it go sideways. She didn’t want to force anything or risk reopening old wounds. But she couldn’t let herself do nothing. She needed to see her. To check, to hear, to be near.
Namaari’s hand hovered at the door, and she rapped softly on the wooden frame.
“Who is it?” Raya’s voice, calm but tired, came from inside.
“It’s me,” Namaari said quietly. “May I…?”
There was a pause, then a faint sound of movement. “Yes,” Raya said, and Namaari pushed the door open slowly.
The room smelled faintly of jasmine, warm and soothing, the steam from the recently drawn bath curling in soft wisps around the lamps.
Raya sat on the edge of the bed, just finished braiding her hair, a towel draped loosely over her shoulders. Her skin still held the pale glow from the bath, and the simple domesticity of the moment made Namaari’s chest tighten.
She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, letting her presence be gentle but insistent. She held out her hands, open, offering a bridge of trust.
Raya froze, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to Namaari’s steady gaze. After a heartbeat of hesitation, she tentatively placed her hands in Namaari’s. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver up Namaari’s spine.
“Come,” Namaari said softly, guiding her toward the edge of the bed. “Sit with me.”
Side by side now, the faint scent of jasmine and the steam from the bath wrapped around them. Namaari’s thumbs found the backs of Raya’s hands, stroking delicate, careful patterns. “You can trust me,” she murmured. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you.”
Raya pulled back slightly, voice sharp despite her small frame. “Is this about my panic attack, again? ‘Maari, I swear to the gods it was nothing. I’m completely fine. You can drop it.”
Namaari’s jaw tightened. “Raya,” she said, voice firmer now, though still gentle. “This isn’t about nagging you. But, you can’t just keep shutting me out when—”
“I’m not shutting you out!” Raya snapped, jerking her hands free and standing up abruptly. “I’m fine! I don’t need—”
“You are shutting me out!” Namaari cut in, frustration threading through her words. “You’ve barely eaten all week. You flinch when anyone touches you. Hell, you’re even terrified of your own shadow, and you’re telling me it’s nothing? That’s not fine, Raya! You’re not fine.”
Raya’s chest heaved, eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “Because it’s my business! You have no right to push me like this!”
Namaari’s voice softened, but her frustration remained, coiling in her chest. “You’re right, I don’t, and for that I am sorry. But I have every right to care about you. You’re not alone, Raya. You don’t have to carry this by yourself. Not with me.”
Raya’s shoulders sagged slightly, tears threatening to spill, but her voice was still defiant. “I was just tired, Namaari. I just need to sleep it off, that’s all. It was just anxiety.”
Namaari shook her head, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. “No. You can’t just sleep it off. Not this time. I won’t let you continue like this. Tell me the truth, Raya. Please.”
For a long, tense moment, Raya’s lips pressed tight. Her gaze darted to the floor, to Namaari, back to the floor. Finally, a shaky breath escaped her lips.
“Alright,” she whispered, voice tight and low. “You want the truth? This is it.”
Namaari’s heart clenched. She leaned closer, careful not to crowd her.
Raya’s fingers fumbled nervously with the edge of her towel, voice fragile, almost breaking.
“Kavi, he.. he assaulted me.”
The room started to spin. Raya sucked in a sharp breath.
᪥
She was fourteen again.
He had been sixteen, sitting in the smoke-filled tavern, pride frayed to threads. He had slipped out of a crowded bar moments earlier, muttering bitterly to himself.
The older soldiers had laughed at him, doubted him, whispered that he was soft, unproven, not worthy of Fang’s steel. Even Virana and Namaari herself must have had their doubts, he thought bitterly, carried quiet doubts behind their eyes.
That’s when he spotted her.
The young princess of heart, crouched in the dirt, feeding scraps to her small creature, oblivious to him.
She seemed impossibly small in that moment, far from the warrior the stories were already beginning to make her.
The thought slithered into his mind before he could crush it.
If he could take her, bend her, prove himself… then no one could doubt his strength.
His loyalty.
A twisted logic. Half-drunk. Half-crazed. Entirely wrong.
Still, he proceeded.
He approached with a crooked smile, words meant to charm. When she frowned at his forwardness, confused and dismissive, the rejection flared hotter than the soldiers’ laughter ever had.
He grabbed her arm. She pulled back. She said no.
The world went red.
The struggle was a blur: her fists, her kicks, the fire in her eyes. His hands were rough, too strong for her smaller frame. She fought like a dragon, a warrior even then, but once she tried to run, he tackled and pinned her down into the long grass, unthinking.
Relentless.
Her voice broke into pleading as his hands began to roam. Her tears stung more than her fists. Still he pressed on, until he barely recognised himself.
He had half undressed her. His mind was hazy; not with lust, but with anger, with shame.
And then after a few minutes of contemplation, there was stinging.
Pain.
Steel biting into his thigh.
She had managed to stab him with his own crested dagger, and fled.
Shock dropped him, fury drained in an instant, replaced by horror at what he had done. What he had almost done.
He cried out, not just in pain but in shame, words spilling uselessly from his lips: I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it. I regret it.
But she was already gone.
And as she disappeared, all he could do was collapse into the dirt, clutching the wound and his own self-disgust, too late for apologies, too late for undoing.
᪥
Raya’s words cracked the air like a blade to glass.
Silence fell between them, thick and unbearable. For a long heartbeat, Raya kept her gaze fixed on the floor, as if even speaking the truth had cost her too much. Her breath came fast and shallow, her fingers still twisting in the edge of her towel.
Namaari’s vision blurred with the rush of blood in her head. Her pulse thundered. She wanted so badly to bring justice, to punish Kavi. But when she looked at Raya, small, trembling, so impossibly brave for saying it at all, her rage shifted into something softer. Protective.
She reached forward, hands open, careful not to startle. “Dep la,” she murmured, voice breaking against the weight of it. “Come here.”
For a moment Raya hesitated, frozen between retreat and surrender. Then her breath hitched, and she gave in. She fell forward into Namaari’s arms, clutching onto her with such desperation that made Namaari’s chest ache.
The dam broke.
Raya sobbed into her shoulder, raw and shaky, the kind she had probably kept buried for years. Namaari wrapped her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles into her spine.
“I’ve got you,” Namaari whispered again and again, her lips close to Raya’s temple. “I’m here. I won’t let you go through this alone. Not now, not ever.”
Raya clung harder, as if the words cracked open something inside her. “I tried to forget,” she choked. “Tried to tell myself it didn’t matter, that I was strong enough to move past it, but I can’t. God, Namaari, I can’t—”
“You don’t have to,” Namaari cut in, gentle but firm. She pulled back just enough to cup Raya’s damp cheeks, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You don’t have to bury it, or carry it on your own. You didn’t deserve that whatsoever Raya, and he’s a despicable bastard for even trying it. You survived. That makes you stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. And if you let me, I’ll help you bear it. All of it.”
Raya’s lashes clumped with tears, but her gaze softened. Something inside her seemed to loosen, her whole body slumping against Namaari’s in quiet exhaustion. “You really mean that?” she whispered.
“With every breath,” Namaari said without hesitation. She pressed her forehead to Raya’s, steadying both their breathing. “Moving forward, it doesn’t mean forgetting it, dep la. It means deciding how you want to heal. And whatever that looks like, I’ll stand beside you.”
Raya closed her eyes, fresh tears slipping free, but this time her sobs were quieter, almost relieved. She leaned into Namaari’s touch, finally letting herself rest there.
For the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she had to endure it alone.
Namaari held her, fierce in her gentleness, until Raya’s trembling ebbed. Only then did she speak again, voice low but resolute. “We’ll decide together what happens next. What you need, what you want. I promise you that, dep la.”
And for the first time since the words had been spoken, Raya nodded.
᪥
three months later
Fang’s banners still flew bright against the stone, but the air inside it’s walls had changed.
The whispers of scandal had long since quieted, buried beneath decisive justice. Kavi’s name was no longer spoken in the barracks; his place among Fang’s soldiers had been stripped away, his absence a silence none dared question aloud.
Raya was changing. The shadows hadn’t vanished overnight, but step by step, slowly but surely, she’d reclaimed herself.
She laughed without forcing it. She shared meals without pushing her plate aside. When she sparred, her strikes were quick and sure, not driven by fear but by fire.
The scars remained, but they no longer defined her.
Namaari stood at the edge of the training yard, arms folded, watching as Raya tossed her blade from hand to hand, grinning after a clean strike. The sight made something warm bloom in her chest.
Pride, yes, but more than that. Something gentler, something that had been growing quietly between them all along.
When Raya noticed her, she came over, sweat shining on her brow. “What?” she teased, a smile tugging at her lips. “You going to keep staring or join me?”
Namaari smirked, but her voice softened. “Maybe I like staring.”
The flush that rose in Raya’s cheeks was answer enough. She rolled her eyes and shoved her shoulder lightly against Namaari’s, but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.
For a long moment, they simply stood together in the fading light, a silence that felt more like a promise than a pause. They had walked through shadows, yes, but now, side by side, they had the chance to step into something brighter.