The Fall of Taremu
Princess Layla commands the elite guard at the East gate when a messenger arrives with word from King Zuberi. The lines are failing. Collapse inward. Force the enemy through narrow passes. Buy time for the last civilians to clear. The king’s elite guard is to return to the castle.
Zuberi gathers his wife and their six children. No one resists what is coming. The room holds the kind of silence that comes after acceptance. He gives instruction without trembling. They receive it without protest. Even the youngest, Layla’s twenty year old sister, understands.
Guards prepare to escort the king, queen, and youngest daughter to private quarters. Their end will be on their own terms. Rehearsed. Painless.
Final embraces.
“There is no greater honor in death than choosing how it comes.”
The words do not echo. They settle.
The sibling warriors and their closest guard move with purpose, prepared to do what great warriors do until they can no longer.
Kindred Precepts
The gates break.
Defenders retreat under pressure but do not yield. Layla stands with her brothers as the last line. Their movement is efficient. Surgical. Trained for this.
The enemy is relentless. Methodical. Disciplined beyond fury. They rotate in waves to preserve strength. A distant voice calls, “Rotate.”
Fatigue spreads through her line. Then it fractures.
Her brothers fall. One seals a breach with his body. Another dies buying seconds that cost everything. No final words. Layla sees each death.
Protocol is clear. With no surrender, the royal line must end. Layla is the last of her blood standing.
King Nassori rides forward to witness the final stand of Taremu’s last princess.
Two of his elite guards fall before the others understand how.
Blades pin her. Armor cracks. Breath short. Rage steady.
She does not beg. Does not cower. Does not blink.
One of Nassori’s twins raises his blade. Nassori stops him.
He studies her. Weighs consequence. Then orders her taken alive.