1.

Lands of Gliala:

Atarah was geared for war. The sunlight struck harshly against her golden armor, blinding anyone standing beside her. That’s why she stood alone, in front, on top of her Akhal-Teke. Bearing the black rifle on her back and two blades on her belt. She donned on the red cape, embroidered with the Royal seal. A curved sword between two diamonds. Her army was positioned on the hill overlooking the vast war-torn land of Gliala. Once a thriving city of farmers, but when the Lura ravaged the land, bringing chaos, the city became ashes.

“We have word that the army is closing in.” General Jasper walked up to her.

“They are quite brave,” Atarah smirked, knowing what was coming for the enemy.

 “Place the snipers, block the exits. How is the air force coming?” She was looking straight ahead, at the notches, as if waiting for a long-loved one. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, strands of curls stopped under her ears.

“Everything is in place, your highness.” Jasper came back after a few minutes. “Now, let’s hope they don’t make us wait longer. I heard the palace kitchen was busy for the feast.” She wasn’t kidding. Her stomach grumbled with starvation, as it was the tradition among the military. They would start fasting from midnight and would break it when they have won. The king believed it gave a more personal dedication to winning the war, rather than winning it for the land and its people. Not everyone joined the army with a patriotic heart.

The temperature shifted around her as a pure white, dire wolf walked up the hill. Its coat glittered against the sun’s touch. “Everything good, Astara?” Atarah looked down at her second in command. The wolf was only an inch shorter than the horse, and the only one of its kind to exist in the kingdom. Astara nodded and then lifted her head to sniff at the air.

“You sense it too, huh?” Atarah asked, and the wolf growled in response. She watched as the shield around her kingdom came up, the diamond glass forming a pattern as it created a bubble around the land. It looked magnificent from up here, Atarah thought. She knew that no one from either side could see what was happening, but the shield protected the realm from bombs and toxic gases. In rare cases, Magic.

The kingdom of Sargas was secured. Now it was her turn to win the war, to strike back the revenge her kingdom owned to Antares for a long time. “Your highness, the sniper spots the cavalry marching in from the notches,” Jasper yelled from behind her. Atarah unhooked the golden bird pin and let her cape fall on the muddy ground. She held her right arm straight up, so that it was visible to everyone, her hand balled up in a fist. Behind her, a soldier placed the metallic battle horn on his lips and blew heavily.

The sound rumbled across the field. A few crows and birds flew away from their hiding spots. As the sound died down, Atarah could hear the marching of the footsteps, and the trumpet noise of heavily armored rhinos making their way towards Gliala. She waited for them to fall in, and dropped her arm then, taking the reins of her horse, Atarah rode down the hill. Her cavalry of 500 men and women followed her.

It is believed that if you walk the destroyed lands of Gliala, you would smell the fruits the trees once bore. When Atarah rushed past the black muddy sand, her nose caught traces of strawberries and mangoes. A sudden image flashed in her mind, A group of farmers dancing around the harvested crop, their clothes mismatched, and the drums beating as people cried out a prayer to the God.

It wasn't an innate feeling, but she felt a deep personal attraction to the image. It felt like she was there, like she belonged within the group. Atarah didn’t stop to ponder over the image. She had her priorities straight. She needed to win the war.

The army was standing just where the black sand ended, and life started. She watched the prince in his dark gray gear and dark blue cape, hopping down from his horse and walking towards her. Following the rules, Atarah got off her horse and followed the prince’s lead. Her army waiting silently behind her.

The two royals met in the middle of the battlefield. A stark contrast to one another, Atarah with her sky-blue eyes and pale skin, the prince with his silver hair, gray eyes, and dark skin.“Is the kingdom of Antares open to negotiation?” Atarah spoke the words drilled in her mind. The wind blew towards the south, and some strands of her hair tickled her cheeks. “ Antares does not negotiate with betrayers.” The prince spoke with arrogant authority. Aren’t you tired of repeating it?. Atarah thought, but she dare not speak the words. She knew if she broke one little rule, it can be used against her kingdom at the International Court.

Dragomir was the third son of King Othello, the warrior who defeated Orion’s coven. A man of few words, who would go to great lengths to seek vengeance. Atarah knew this because it wasn’t their first meeting. He was the only man who challenged her in battle, who drove her to the edge of the cliff, who knew what she was capable of.

“You know I’ll win.” Dragomir bluntly stated his thought, his expression unchanged. Atarah couldn’t see a single emotion on his face. I guess it’s true, she thought. He is an embodiment of fear. But Atarah refused to look down. She had experienced too many wars and emerged victoriously. This was a piece of cake. She relaxed her fingers and met his eyes.

“Didn’t you say that last time?” She tried to keep her face straight. She didn’t want him to hear a booming heartbeat. Dragomir smiled lightly. He put his hand out for the shake, and Atarah grabbed it lightly, feeling the scars on his palm.

“Don’t stab me,” Atarah let go of his hand.

“No promises.”