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She descended the stone steps, her armored skirts clinking. As she reached the center of the gathering, she drew the blade, the metal catching the setting sun.
The dust of the savannah hadn't settled, but Queen Malika stood unmoving atop the highest terrace of the Azzazian citadel. Below her, the coalition of tribal leaders argued, their voices rising like the desert wind. They doubted the 17-year-old queen could hold the line against the encroaching Fire-Stalkers. queen_malikamp4
"Queen Malika, your people are scared," Prime Minister Gidi said, his voice trembling. "They say it is time to surrender the eastern grain stores to buy time." She descended the stone steps, her armored skirts clinking
That night, under the cover of a sandstorm, Malika didn't wait to be attacked. She led the vanguard. As the Stalkers’ camp came into view, Malika felt the fear of her youth vanish, replaced by the crushing weight of her responsibility—and the fire of her destiny. Below her, the coalition of tribal leaders argued,
Malika didn't look back at her advisors. She focused on the horizon, where the smoke of burning villages stained the sky.
With a roar that outdid the wind, Malika breached the camp. She was no longer just a ruler; she was the warrior she was born to be.