AN: I included religion in the first chapter, seeing as how it could give you a brief image of the time of that era to you readers. Here is the second chapter, enjoy.
I do not own anything, just this story and the fan-made characters. I hope you all enjoy it! :)
What We Can't Have
Order.
Everything is in order, from the grandness of the Universe to the complexity of the cells. Nothing could break their built structure, it just goes according to an already written plan.
So what if I told you what everything strived for could be breakable? For example, Fate. Could one perhaps make a mistake that could alter its direction, the conclusion of what was to happen? Could one even dare to try?
How could one possibly perform such an act? And if one, dare I say, does alter the direction of which Fate has chosen for us, does it still mean it is going according to the plan?
The things that are meant to take place will take place, it is simply inevitable. And yet... could it still be broken?
Chapter Two
1190, Damascus, Syria
"Ow! Careful, Sarah!" Farah whined as the female servant treated the bruise on her jaw. Her father avoided hitting her face, fearing that if he disfigured her, Edwardo would not longer desire her. But sometimes he just couldn't help himself.
"I'm sincerely sorry, my Lady," Sarah apologized in her Arabic accent. Sometimes, Sarah aided her with her Arabic and, thus, Farah mumbled out a, "It's okay. Just eat your job and ignore my cries of shoes."
Sarah smiled, patting Farah's swollen jaw with a warm, wet cloth. "It's do your job and cries of pain, not shoes, my Lady." She oh'd, nodding. To Farah's right, Dania, her cat, yawned and began purring. She smiled. This little bastard was so lucky.
"Did you enjoy yourself today, my Lady?" she gently asked. Farah sighed at the memory. "It was magnificent, truly. The feeling of being free..." She shivered. "It's indescribable—worth the fights and wounds."
Sarah nodded and silently gazed down. Farah frowned and gently clasped the younger female's cheek. Sarah was of eight and ten years while Farah of one and twenty, hence the things that bothered Sarah affected Farah equally. "What is wrong, girl?"
Her servant sighed, pursed her lips, and glanced up at Farah. "Forgive me if I'm trespassing a personal topic here, my Lady, but...will you ever give in and marry sir Edwardo de Pablo?"
Farah retreated her hand, earning an instant "I'm sorry!" from Sarah. She smiled, clasping her servant's hand with hers. "Never ever lower yourself to someone when you are worth more, Sarah." Her servant suddenly started sobbing, kissing Farah's hands.
"But...y-your father will beat y—"
"It's alright. As long as I'm standing up for what I believe in, the consequences can rot in Hell for all I care."
Sarah nodded, a pure tear skidding down her pink-shaded cheeks. Her servant had auburn hair, green eyes, and tanned skin. Unlike her, Farah possessed an extremely long, black hair, big brown eyes, and skin that has seen too many winters.
"Does that mean you'll never marry sir Edwardo de Pablo?" she softly asked.
Farah smiled broadly. "Never."
"What the bloody hell!" her father's shocked voice boomed from outside her room, instantly snapping the two females from their conversation and causing them to yelp. Heavy footsteps strode past her closed door, meaning her father's business was not with her. At that, she gradually relaxed.
"He was ambushed?" her father all but yelled at the—most probably—informant.
"Yes, sir. By an..." The voice slightly hesitated before answering, "An Assassin."
Assassin?
"Assassin?" her father suddenly croaked out in the dead silence, the fear evident in his tone. Farah slightly straightened. "How? Did Edwardo, dare I ask, survive?"
"We still do not know how, only that the assassin had annihilated all the guards. And, yes, Edwardo walked away from the battlefield unharmed. The slaves, unfortunately, have escaped."
The disappointment in Farah was heavy. Why did Edwardo have to survive out of all? Fate was truly cruel sometimes. But her heart softened at the news about the slaves.
"Well, why didn't you say so! My friend lives!" Her father thickly laughed. Their murmurs decreased in volume as they stomped further away from her chamber. She looked at Sarah, who was still staring at the door, and frowned. "He just had to survive, didn't he?"
"Did you hear that, my Lady?" Sarah was suddenly in her face, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
"Yes, I did. The bastard survived."
"No, not that." Sarah waved Farah's words away. "The assassin," she let out in an awed whisper.
Farah frowned, and pursed her lips. "Alright...?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "The men in the mountains?" she asked in an obvious tone.
Farah merely arched a brow at her. "Come again?"
"The angels in white cloaks?" Sarah pressed further. Farah slowly shook her head. Then, her servant gasped. "Oh, Lord. You really don't know?"
"Know what?" Farah instantly asked, her brain eager to learn all about these 'men in the mountains'.
"There's a rumour that has been going on around the city for couple of months now about some sort of secret organization. People don't have much proof of their existence, some think they don't even exist, but we believe they're real. Well, now I do."
"What are you talking about?" Farah questioned, her stomach suddenly churning.
Sarah nibbled on her lower lip. "These...men, assassins, they rarely come out. Oh, I don't even know when they come out, I just know that when the city bells give loud rings, they have been here. In the city. Anyways, when these men are known to be in the city, every nefarious criminal goes into hiding."
"Why? Are they that great?"
At that, Sarah snorted. "Great? They're invincible, or that's what I heard. Anyways," she waved her hand through the air, "I'll tell you the scary part. You'll never see them coming. They are one with the shadows and move with the wind. So, if they want you dead—you're dead."
Farah fell into silence. Then, "How did Edwardo survive then?" she asked.
Sarah shrugged. "Maybe his target was another man, who knows? Innocents don't die at the hands of the assassins, it is only the political leaders. That is how I see it. Besides, what gain would come from killing innocents?"
Farah raised her eyebrows in evident surprise. "Unbelievable." She exhaled. "Political leaders, you say? Edwardo is one and he is the vilest man to ever breathe the air of this planet, hence...?"
Sarah sighed. "I don't know. Perhaps he wasn't on their kill-list?"
"Kill-list? How do they even know who to kill? To know the backgrounds of these infamous men would require you to be a politician as well. You need to have connections." Farah found herself wanting more answers. The sudden brief image of a white-cloaked man sitting beside her flashed though her mind, but she quickly dismissed it, focusing on Sarah.
"Well?" she prompted.
"Hmm." Her servant tapped her chin. "Rumours have it they have some sort of a leader, I do not know. It is quite peculiar but they are devoted to that man and some cause. That is all I know from the rumours. We believe them to be of fiction. So, yes, I don't have the slightest idea."
"And yet you dig for more. Why, if I may ask?" Farah tilted her head to the side, examining her servant. Sarah smiled shyly, shrugged, and looked away.
Farah understood. Private. She nodded. "What is their cause?"
Sarah shrugged once more. "Whatever it is, all the leaders, at some point, will learn of them. And some not that prettily. They're feared and they're strong and everyone who comes face to face with one of those mysterious hooded men should definitely quiver in utter terror. Perhaps even fall on their knees and beg for mercy."
Farah frowned. "Why?"
Sarah eyed her intently, then, with her voice flat and monotonous, said, "Because I heard they even kill kings."
-x-
1190, Damascus, Syria
Hawk eyes suddenly snapped open, the wild pupils abruptly shrinking into a small dot. Releasing a burning breath out, Altair slowly rose from the spot he rested on. His muscles cried out in protest, making him grit his teeth in withering patience. His head hammered on, and his heart beat loudly in his ears.
He was confident he hadn't consumed any alcohol the previous night, and especially not on a mission, hence why was—
Realization dawned, and he sprung up to his feet, grabbing his dagger. Only one problem: he grabbed thin air.
Whipping around, he studied his surroundings. Book shelves, Persian carpets, a wooden counter, and the soft tinkling sound of water hitting marble. He was in the Assassins Bureau. The last thing Altair recalled was dropping flat on the ground. Yet, when he ransacked his brain for memories, he remembered getting up and weakly walking to a place his conscious knew of. Had he come here in that trembling state?
His cheeks heated and he cursed under his breath. Such embarrassment. Such disgrace. He had lost to his enemy, had fallen before his very eyes, and now presented the similar weakness to his comrades?
Never again, he vowed.
With a grunt, he sat right back down, and realized he was completely nude except for the bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder. He covered his lower body with a Persian blanket, and gently rubbed at his wound.
It hissed and whined out in protest, but Altair paid it no heed. He flexed his solid back, grunted, then gave his injured shoulder numerous rolls. Perfect. He could start hunting down Edwardo today. Only one problem: his clothes were nowhere to be seen.
What irritated him the most was the absence of his precious weapons. An assassin never existed without his blades, and Altair was not one to wander around weapon-less—not even in his sleep.
"Rafiq!" he called out, irritation lacing his voice. He smelled herbs and medicine. After a heartbeat, the Rafiq appeared before an outlet, his arms crossed against his chest.
"You aren't leaving, Altair. You must rest, the poison still runs in your system."
Altair nearly scoffed. "I thank you for your hospitality, brother. But I have not come here to rest. Where are my belongings?"
The Rafiq sighed. "You showed up on my doorstep three nights ago, Altair. I think it is wise if you'll heed to my requests now." Three nights ago? Word must've spread about him already, and Altair could not risk the welfare of the Brotherhood nor let Edwardo walk around a freeman.
He should, would, end his life. Perhaps today even, and save himself from further humiliation.
"My clothes, Rafiq." Altair growled darkly.
They had a staring contest for three whole minutes before, finally, the Rafiq sighed, slightly shaking his head. "I'll let you be stubborn for now, Altair. But mark my words when I tell you to be cautious of your actions tonight. The poison has travelled close to your heart, and if you overuse your energy, it will attack without warning."
Altair nodded in understanding. Damn Templars.
The Rafiq disappeared behind the outlet and returned a few seconds later with Altair's belongings. "I retreated back your weapons from the battlefield. You can thank me later by buying me more Persian silks."
Silent, Altair took hold of his possessions and put them on. The room was filled with shuffles and clicks. Once every weapon was clasped tightly around his body, only then did Altair allow his muscles to relax. Without his armoury, he always felt uncomfortable, almost empty, and loathed walking without it—for he grew up in it.
Clenching and unclenching his firm hands, Altair gave his shoulders a roll back and cracked his neck. Nodding his gratitude to the Rafiq, he strode out of the outlet and into the room with the small fountain.
Concentrating his energy on his legs, Altair, with a flexed jump, leapt up to the roof. He thought he heard the Rafiq mutter a, "So much for not overusing energy," but dismissed it and run full-speed below the night's pouring rain.
-x-
1190, Damascus, Syria
The slap of bare feet against the muddy ground echoed throughout the cold night as the figure made her desperate escape. Turning to a corner, and nearly slipping while doing so, Farah leaned against a wall. Inhaling deeply, the air scratching past her sore throat, she once again bolted into action.
The rain poured on hard, causing her red dress to stick to her body like second skin. A mewling sound came from between her arms, and she hugged the small figure close to her chest.
Dania released another mewl.
Farah had found Dania when she had first migrated to Damascus, and she had been the smallest thing ever, completely weak and fragile. After taking her in, she grew up to be meaty and strong, her voice loud enough to be heard from hallways down.
"Shhh...Mother Farah will take great care of you." Dania struggled in her arms, no doubt trying to escape the pouring rain. She had wrapped her cat in a blanket roping around her shoulder and waist, but it was almost already soaked wet, dampening Dania's fur. The little brat still struggled, leaving Farah no choice but to squeeze her fat body against her own.
Farah knew they had to find a good hiding spot or else it would all be over—they would find her. With her body trembling, teeth chattering, and legs moving, Farah turned to the right and entered an alleyway. She leaned against the wet wall in obvious exhaustion.
Her father had made a choice—a choice that was Farah's to make, just to be clear—and said that if she yet again refused, the pleasures of this world would be denied to her. Like they weren't already.
Farah suddenly sighed loudly, really close to finally releasing the held back tears.
This time her father had ventured too far. Before, the option of marrying Edwardo was up to her to decide, and her father would of course attempt to encourage the right answer from her lips so as to get his share from de Pablo's wealth, but now, knowing that Farah would not easily cave, he had decided it himself. He concluded that she will marry Edwardo, whether her answer was in the affirmative or not.
And that was the sole reason why she was here, shivering and panting to death just to avoid marrying that bastard. After realizing that Edwardo nearly died by the hands of an assassin, Farah apparently should not wait any longer. And, thus, her father single-handedly wrecked her life.
But Sarah, who had overheard their conversation, helped Farah escape her fated future. She had planned—and made sure—that Farah would not be stopped or spotted when she fled the palace grounds at midnight.
And now she was running for her life.
What still tugged at Farah's chest was the fact that Sarah could pay for this crime with her head if they ever found out she was involved. But when she voiced her worry, Sarah had just smiled, saying it was worth it.
Her respect for Sarah grew by each passing second. She owed the girl a great deal.
But, unfortunately, the word of her escape had reached her father, and now she had around eight guards on her tail, all eager to hunt her down like a dog and bring her forth to her father.
How? Who told him?
Breathing in deeply to keep the heat within her body running, Farah hastily glanced around. The alleyway was a decent size, and a few wooden boxes lined up a corner. Ignoring them, she focused on the half-wall that rose before her, the cement separating the alley from the property of another civilian's home. It appeared climbable.
She could prop herself up on the roof and avoid being spotted. She could do it. Making up her mind, Farah prepared to bolt into action.
Tightly tying the cloth that held Dania close around her shoulder and waist, Farah made a run for it. With a powerful jump, she clasped the edge of the wall and urgently tried to pull herself up.
Tried—but failed. Miserably.
Her hands slipped due to the rain, causing them to scratch against the rough surface of the wall, and her body fell to ground in a painful thwack!
Huffing and shivering, she rose back to her feet and tried again. And again. And failed.
"C-Come on, come o-on." She violently trembled, her limbs shaking. The base of her shoes had torn in the chase, hence why her feet were numbed due to the brutality of the weather. Her dark hair was dripping wet, and it stuck to her revealed cheeks and neck, causing her skin to slightly itch.
Hugging Dania close and making sure she wouldn't slam against the wall when Farah jumped, she bolted into action and confidently leapt high—only to kiss the ground rather too passionately.
Groaning, Farah once again stood up and rubbed her aching back. Her skin had gone so numb and solid cold, with the harsh wind mercilessly whipping against her exposed skin, that she no longer could feel anything. And when she did, it hurt her more than it possibly should have.
Suddenly, reverberating with the thundering rain, the numerous splash of boots against the wet earth echoed in the night—and they sounded awfully close.
Breath hitched in her throat; Farah stood frozen for a few seconds. Then, she ran to the wall and desperately tried to climb it. She earned a few more scratches on her body, and helplessly slipped down onto the ground.
No, she thought, panicked. No, please. Don't let them see me, don't let them see me, don't let me bloody see me. She would not let Sarah's efforts go to waste, no. She would fight. And climb. But mainly fight and stay her ground.
Knowing that they'd easily spot her if she run out of the alleyway, Farah knew her only hope was to go over the wall. She turned on her heels and once more tried to climb that slippery bastard.
How ironic when she always thought there was an invisible wall standing between her and freedom, there was an actual wall standing between her and freedom. Great. Just perfect.
"Hey! Over here! I see her!" a male voice suddenly broke out from the mouth of the alleyway, provoking Farah's stomach to suddenly yelp up to her throat. Her blood chilled and her body froze. Surely she had...imagined it, right?
"Over here, come on!"
Or not.
Panicking, Farah scrambled up the wall, her actions similar to that of a frightened cat. Footsteps resounded, and all stubbornly marched towards her direction. Their stomps echoed loudly in her ears, more provoking than the dark weather.
"Lady Farah," a male voice uttered her name. She instantly recognized it. Jamil.
Whipping her head back, she stared at him through wide, brown eyes.
"Jamil," she croaked out in relief. Surely he'd understand, right?
Eyeing him through the pouring rain, Farah made out his...grinning face, she realized in sudden fright. He presented the image of a true hungry man. For what, Farah didn't dare guess.
"We have, at last, found you." Jamil chuckled darkly, rain dripping over his face. Farah gulped.
"I'm n-not going back," she gritted out.
"Sure you aren't."
Farah shut her eyes in patience. "I'm Lady Farah and I order you to take your leave. Now." When she reopened her eyes, she found Jamil arching a brow up at her.
"You do recall that we serve your father and not you, right?"
Farah pursed her lips. Worth the try.
"Come here," he nearly snarled as he grabbed her forearm. Farah immediately released a frenzied scream out. Then, "Jamil, please! Don't make me go back to him, I beg of you! He'll... God, Jamil. Please," Farah softly cried out.
"He promised as a bounty, and I intent to collect it."
Farah stared up at him in utter disbelief, her mouth hung agape. Money. He wished to exchange her life for money. Why that...
"Is that what you desire? Money?" she spat out. "I have rich relatives, if you let me go, I'll ask one of them to pay you a great amount."
Jamil chuckled, then shook his head. "Nobody pays better than your old man, Lady Farah." True. Her father was a rich politician—and he wanted to be richer—who could buy the land of Damascus if he desired to. He was a monster.
"No!" she aggressively shouted. "I will not go back, I'd rather die!"
"And you probably will. Once you go back." Jamil tugged her forth, provoking her bare feet to scratch against the rugged ground. Farah winced.
"Let me go!" She protested, trying to wiggle her way out of his right clasp. "Let me go I said! Jamil, now!" Farah scratched at his arm, causing him to growl in frustration. "Or I swear I'll harm you."
At that, Jamil laughed out loud. "Of course." He nodded. She narrowed her eyes.
"Those times when you were kind to me, allowing me to pass the gates with no question whatsoever, what h-happened to that J-Jamil, huh?"
"He never existed. I only did those acts so you and I could," he flicked his tongue out and wiggled it. Realization dawned, and Farah paled. Her eyes widened a fraction in disbelief. The kind, cheeky Jamil had wanted to... She gagged, not even trying to conceal her evident disgust.
"You're s-sick," she gritted out.
"Nay, I'm not. Your father is." He leaned closer to her form, and whispered horrendous words into her ear. "And so is your future husband."
Farah gasped, then literally began to fully panic. "No, no, no! Release me, you bastard! Somebody help," she screamed, her voice piercing through the pounding rain. "I will not go back! I will never go back! I refuse to marry Edwardo!"
"Shut up!" Jamil shouted, dragging her flailing body forth.
"Help!" she cried out yet again, praying someone would.
No one did.
"Nobody will," Jamil fiercely whispered out, provoking Farah to stifle her cry of despair. He was right.
No one would... she was to go back... was to be beaten, punished. She was to marry Edwardo and live a long, abusing life. Every breath she'd take would be a curse, a poison. Then, she'd have to tolerate Edwardo's harassments and go to bed feeling dirty...worthless. Dead.
No, no, no, Farah thought next. She would never allow herself to drop that low.
In that instant, Farah released the loudest scream in her life, the sound thundering louder than the pouring rain.
"Shut your trap!" Jamil roared out in annoyance.
"Make me, you hypocrite!" Farah evenly retorted.
At her words, Jamil stiffened. Then, he fully faced her, his grip on her forearm no doubt forming bruises. "Ow, ow, stop it. Jamil, you're hurting me," she hoarsely whispered out. Jamil didn't seem to care.
"You dare call me a hypocrite?" he hissed out in her face. Farah slowly shrank away as his face inched her direction. "You? The worthless tramp?"
She narrowed her eyes, but still retreated away from his form.
"I'll show you the errors of your way," he hoarsely made out, his suddenly heated gaze dropping low to her lips. Understanding dawned, and Farah whimpered. "Oh, I'll show you..."
Horrified, she refused to give in and attempted to pull away. "Jamil," she warned. His face inched closer. Why weren't the other guards stopping him? Why wasn't anyone aiding her? Suddenly, Farah felt completely alone. Abandoned. She was a nobody, and would always remain as such, she concluded heavily.
Lonely, the voice echoed inside her head, causing her chin to tremble—but not from the cold. She was all alone in this world. Unworthy of love, care, or adoration. At those thoughts, Farah's inner walls started to crumble down and her chest constricted with aching, agonizing sensations.
She was tired of always being strong. She was tired of always crying herself to sleep. She was tired of the unjust treatment she received in return for her forgiveness and patience. God dammit, she was tired of it all. They ate and spat her out, and now she felt worn out. Exhausted.
When will it ever end? When will she die?
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her sobs increased, shaking her shoulders as they did.
"Yes," Jamil whispered in content. "Cry for me, little Farah."
Disgusting.
He was disgusting. Her father was disgusting. Bastard Edwardo was disgusting. Everyone is! she nearly cried out.
Despite the helplessness, Farah still tried to push Jamil away.
"Stop," she whispered, angling her face away. He didn't. He leaned in closer. Suddenly feeling fury spike, Farah shot her knee up and aimed his groin. "I said stop!"
Jamil released an abrupt howl and toppled over, grabbing his middle. Only then did Farah realize what she had done. Gasping, she covered her mouth in shock.
"Y-You!" Jamil shouted in fury.
"I'm sorry," Farah lamely retorted, even when she had no reason to be.
"I'll show you sorry, you brat!" Jamil instantly straightened, and stomped her way. Farah abruptly retreated.
"Jamil..." she let out cautiously. His face was red with anger—and pain.
"Jamil!" Farah shouted, stretching her palms up before her body to keep him at bay. It didn't work. He took hold of her wrist and brutally tugged her forth. Farah sharply gasped, accidently swallowing some of the rain water.
"I'll show you!" he snarled, raising his hand high in the air—as if to smack her.
"Jamil!" Farah cried out in alarm.
Her wide eyes caught his hand whipping forth, in attempts to aim the soft skin of her cheek, and she hastily closed her eyes in cowardice.
A whoop cut through the rain, causing that brief echo to drift to her ears.
She waited for the hard line of his palm to slam against her skin, waited for the aching sting but...it never came. Brows furrowing, Farah leisurely cracked her lids open, once again being greeted by the outside world.
The fierce pound of the rain against roofs, buildings and streets, greeted her senses like a drumming song. Thunder crackled in the sky, causing Farah to focus her attention on the figure before her.
As the cold wind slapped at her fragile skin, Farah knew there was something odd at the way Jamil stood frozen before her, his hand still high in the air.
Confused, she gazed up at his face, and noticed how his features were constricted in an agonized manner. Then, his lips gradually parted and a stream of crimson flowed out.
Farah's eyes widened in shock, and her hitched breath burned her throat. "Ja..," she started, watching how his armoured body slowly leaned towards her and fell on the ground almost lifelessly, "...Mil?"
That was when she spotted a blade slammed into his spine, the hilt designed as a feather. What...is...
Silence had befallen all; the only thing reverberating was the everyone's raspy breathing. Farah instantly stepped away from Jamil's dead body, and did her best not to start screaming like a madwoman. Again.
All the guards unsheathed their steel swords and frantically scanned the area. Holding Dania extremely close as some sort of comfort, she leisurely began walking back. A sudden shiver run up the length of her spine—and it was not because of the cold.
Something was out there. Something dangerous.
She knew it. Sensed it.
Run!
Her inner voice shouted. Now's your chance, escape!
Dumbly, Farah stood rooted in place like a statue, her legs not for her to command. With her lungs frozen, she started eyeing the dark alleyway for the cause of Jamil's death.
And that was when she spotted a quick flash of white. Blinking, Farah eyed the spot again but found nothing. Sudden thunder crackled in the sky, and that is when she heard the scream of a man, his voice rumbling in sync with the ferocious black clouds.
A body in the far corner fell to the ground, and everyone whipped around in their places to face it. Utterly horrified, Farah watched the rain slap the face of the dead guard, and instantly stole a few steps back. Oh, God...
While all were distracted, another body suddenly slammed against the cold ground. Farah yelped. All the guards tightened their hold on their swords and awaited the appearance of the unknown killer.
For once, Farah didn't mind the men guarding her. They were, weren't they?
"Everybody, hold your ground and keep extreme watch. It's out there," one of them informed. They all nodded.
Then she saw it. Again.
From the corner of her eye, Farah spotted that similar flash of white. Her gaze instantly snapped to that spot—but found nothing.
A pain-filled howl erupted in the night, but as soon as it was heard, it was gone. The body of the guard fell to its death. Farah covered her mouth in evident horror.
"Show yourself, coward!" one of the four remaining guards shouted. There was a quick whiz in the air, and Farah found herself staring at a man with an open throat.
The glimmering blade that cut through the guard's throat seemed to be also aimed at another. The steel whizzed thought the rain and aimed an oblivious guard straight in the chest, the force of it causing the man to topple back. Then, as slowly as one can be, he fell to his knees and then face. Just like that. Dead.
Having a difficult time breathing, Farah twirled around in her place to find the killer. By God, she refused to die here, now, in an alleyway. She breathed through her open mouth, the raindrops wetting her lips. Through her spiked lashes, she searched for the murderer up on the roofs.
The sudden clank of steel against steel resounded, and Farah slowly found herself turning around. Two guards faced away from her, their bodies touching at the shoulders. Had they...done it? Did they get the killer?
Hope ignited in her chest, but it instantly died away.
No, no. This can't be happening. This couldn't be real. But it was...
The two bodies gradually began to fall backwards, their swords dropping to the muddy ground.
Farah's entire being froze while the rain mercilessly beat against her figure. But that wasn't the problem, no. Not at all. Her eyes saw past the pouring rain and behind the bodies of the falling guards.
Inch after dangerous inch, the white figure appeared before her very eyes. His hooded face was angled downwards, as if he was watching the light leave the eyes of his enemies, and then leisurely rose to meet hers. He calmly tossed the bodies to the ground like one would rubbish.
Retracting his sword out of the guard's belly, he gave it an abrupt whip through the air, sending the droplets of blood splashing to the ground. The rain washed his weapon clean, removing all traces of felony and purifying it, readying the sharp steel for another slaughter.
Her life.
That was when Farah heard the cries of her inner voice, heard it yell from the depths of her consciousness. It increased in volume, finally allowing her senses to start working past her body's frozen state.
The white-cloaked man calmly began striding in her direction, briefly wiggling the sword in his hand.
Farah finally heard the word her inner voice was shouting at her, and quivered in sudden alarm.
Run, it was saying.
Run.
-x-
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