Chapter TWs: Violence, violence against women, implied violence against children, mentions of death and war.


Once more he finds himself at the brink of death, or what he can only describe as the feeling of death, and at the walls of Azar's homestead. Behind them, the city is falling into slow ruin – fires burning at his back and the distant screams of citizens suffocate him until his lungs ache for air. The nightmares that have plagued his sleep for months have finally come to fruition. He tries to close his eyes, to block out everything around him and wake up, but the sounds that swarm his senses continue. They drive into his skull, chipping away at him like stone and leaving cracks where none once resided.

Sargon holds him up, keeps him from falling to the ground in a useless pile. The whole thing is an embarrassment. This is not how things should be and yet the infection in his arm continues to burn so fiercely that he is not sure his own legs will be able to support him. He feels weak.

Farah pounds at the door before them – calls for Azar to let them inside and grant them shelter. Her voice trembles as she speaks and while there is fear, he senses something much more behind it: anger. She has seen first hand the horrors that war can bring to a kingdom. She has watched both her own homeland and Babylon crumble under the might of a single army. Now it is happening again. Yes, she is afraid, but her unsteady voice also hides behind it the will to survive.

He finds another reason to admire the princess.

The door swings open and Farah steps back, nearly scrambling away as the wood is lifted from her skin. The sight before them justifies her reasons, for Azar is not the one who greets them. A man stands in her place, sword drawn and blood streaked across his face. His stare at them, eyes wide with desperation and not seeming to register that his own king stands before him. The air around them seems to thicken, making his already painful breaths more difficult and desperate.

The man stands, unmoving like a statue, and it is only when Sargon speaks an order to let them pass that he seems to awaken from his hypnosis. Finally, he moves.

As they move forward and into the temporary safety of the building, Sargon rests his hand on the panicked man's shoulder. It seems to fully awaken the man, bringing him back to his senses until he breaks. Pathetic sobs rise from the soldier's throat, until they nearly block out the noise outside and the man drops his weapon to the ground. Farah gently closes the door behind them, blocking them from the chaos outside.

A new chaos greets them.

"He is not welcome here."

Azar steps forward, her small frame the only barrier between them and huddle of women and children. Blood soaks her clothing and covers her hands. Her face is littered with droplets of crimson and her golden eyes spark until a fire is burning behind them. She is ferocious – standing like a warrior, more ready to defend these people than the soldier behind them. He cannot help but laugh.

"Leave!" She snarls, thrusting a dagger in their direction until it is in line with his throat. "I will not have that creature in my home."

Sargon steps forward, reaching his hand towards the startled woman. She jumps back, away from him and slices her weapon through the air. It arcs upwards before landing only inches from his right eye. The monarch frowns and speaks, his voice calm despite the tension in his muscles, "Azar, he means you no harm."

Her eyes narrow, temporarily shutting the flames within her out from them. She is a wildfire of rage and he finds himself drawn to the heat of it all, despite his own anger towards her earlier betrayal. He prefers when enemies do not just lay down and die.

"He is one of them."

"I am nothing like those creatures, woman." He says through a growl, only wincing when the pain in his arm becomes too much for him to ignore. He can see the flash in her eyes start once again. She has sensed the weakness within him and she regards him suddenly like a wounded animal. But her fear does not vanish.

"You threatened my life." She snaps. Her voice shakes, but not unlike Farah's had before. Her story is almost like a mirror of the princess's own – a survivor of war and a mark of such cruelty and her refusal to let it take her both then and now.

"I said I would take back what you stole." He counters, freeing himself of Sargon's grasp and stepping forward, towards her and the people she protects. Again she steps away from him, thrusting her weapon with the intention to take his life this time. He snarls and snatches the blade, grasping the metal in his hand until trickles of blood flow from a new wound, and heaves it away. It clatters to the ground, striking the wooden floors with a piercing sound and one of the children gasps before falling into muffled sobs against their mother's chest. "Though that is not to say I have not imagined it."

Azar's eyes widen, the flames dying out for a moment before another spark reawakens them. She stares openly at his infected appendage, before her eyes once more harden. The fear hides itself behind her anger, until she stands tall before him, unimpressed with his threats. Blood flows from a deep gash on her hand, marking lines where the claws of his own hand have damaged her skin. "You do not frighten me."

"Oh, but I do," he states calmly and steps towards the woman once more. "Now, give me the medallion, or you will have something entirely new to fear."

Her shoulders roll back ever so slightly, a signal that despite her apparent confidence she wishes to flee from him. She does no such thing, instead speaking a defiant, "No."

He laughs then, turning away from her sharply and looking towards his companions. Farah clings to Sargon's arm, her own gaze like stone and a deep frown lining her features. Sargon simply glares, his anger with the demon evident to all present. "We do not have time to reason with you, girl."

"Azar." She hisses.

A sigh signals his displeasure. After all, he has made a simple request and she is choosing not to comply. Her own king stands behind him and she regards him still as the true enemy – and perhaps she is correct, but that matter will be handled later. After all, he does not have time to waste. He locks his gaze with Sargon and smiles.

"Azar! Move!"

And she does. Quicker than he thought possible she ducks away from his attack. He had intended to dig his hand into the flesh of her throat, but instead it only finds purchase on her shoulder – his talons clipping the skin just enough to make her cry out. She falls to the floor, her hands splaying out in front of her as she attempts to gather her wits once more. He snarls and she rolls to her side, hand pressing onto the wound as she takes her breaths deeply.

The women and children scream.

"She stands in our way." He says, turning back to Sargon swiftly. His counterpart has his sword drawn, ready to spill his very essence onto the ground if necessary. "Must I spell it out for you? That medallion is the key!"

"Desperation will not solve this problem." Sargon states, his voice calm despite outward appearances. "And attacking Azar will change nothing. Now stand down. Before I am forced to make you do so."

His eyes narrow and he can feel red hotness fill his veins, "Ah yes, I did forget who was really in charge here."

Behind him, Azar moves. Her weight shifting the boards beneath her ever so slightly as she does so and the noise of her clothes against the wood makes him turn slightly to watch her. Her hand rests upon her shoulder, grasping tightly onto the wounded skin, but it does little to cover the damage done. Like him though, that fire has not left her and he can see the way it courses through her even then.

"That hurt," she says between breaths, the fire in her eyes only faltering each time the pain sets in. He watches the way her hand squeezes the wound. As though the pain her own touch brings dulls her senses long enough to forget the blood that slips through the cracks of her fingers. "Though I'm sure your pride will hurt far worse."

Before he can contemplate what she means, he is pulled down – back and head both hitting the floor with a loud thump that knocks the breath from his lungs. It shocks him for he had not expected her to attack, to continue on with this physical fight. He makes a move to sit back up, but she is over him in the next moment. Her eyes are hard and the golden light in them dull – again he senses more in her. "Another move and I break it."

It takes only a moment to see what exactly it is that she speaks of: the Medallion of Time. Grasped in her hand, fingers coiled around its smooth surface, and arm raised high above him. He smiles, both filled with amusement and annoyance all at once.

"It cannot be broken."

"Are you certain?" She hisses. "We could test that. Or perhaps I shall throw it into a well. A deep and dark one where even you will have trouble finding it."

"You would only be dooming yourself."

"And you."

He snorts, pushing the laugh through his nostrils and enjoying the way the sound startles the woman above him. "Would you sacrifice all of Babylon to end my life?"

She frowns, but her answer does not come like he expects. The flash in her eyes tells him that she indeed has considered the possibility already – but there is something more there. Hatred fills her very soul and practically pours from her eyes and flows from the blood in her wounds. Interesting, he thinks, that even she is not the picture of nobility or selflessness. Her answer though, tells him something different and it is no lie either, "No."

"The medallion then? Or would you rather waste more time?"

The weight on his stomach where her knee had been pressed fades as she moves back to her feet. Farah is at her side then, poking and prodding as the wounds as Azar continues to stare at him. The medallion has not left her hand, nor has her grip upon it lessened. If anything, she seems more protective of the item and he can practically see the plan she is forming silently before them. He sits up, resting his weight onto his elbows and groaning slightly as his shoulders pop and ache. He is finally able to come back to his feet and reach a hand towards her, "We haven't got all day."

"I said no, did I not?" She mutters, grimacing as the princess begins to bandage the wounds on her shoulder. Again, he can feel a flare of annoyance in his chest – he does not have the patience to go round in circles with this woman. Worse still, he does not have the time. "I am coming with you."

"What? No."

He steps forward, fully intending to once more put her in her place. The request is a ridiculous one. She would not only be an unnecessary addition to their party, but she is already injured. "You will draw attention to us. Slow us down!"

"I was not the one spotted by palace guards!" She says, moving until the gap between them has closed just slightly more. "And if anything I would be an asset."

Sargon roughly pulls him back before anymore can be said. It seems his counterpart has had more than enough of their bickering, or at least more than enough of him. "This mission is dangerous, Azar. We know very little about our enemy. Give the medallion to me – I can be trusted."

"Then all the more reason for me to come. You can use my skills." She states before softening, her shoulders falling slightly and the tension in her muscles evaporating. Again, he recalls her face – younger and more naïve. He had known her – they had known her. She looks like that woman in the moment, instead of whatever Zurvan's attack had made her become. "Babylon is all I have left and I am the one who healed this monster. I saved his life and now I must be sure that my mistake does not destroy us all."

After a moment she adds, "I have nothing more to lose."

That makes him pause and then he notices the silence that has fallen in the room. Save for the few muffled sobs of the babes in the corner, there is nothing. He looks to Sargon, fully expecting the man to argue further with the girl, but instead he finds his eyes downturn. He has refused to meet her gaze and he can practically see the way the guilt drips from ever pore on his skin. Azar, on the other hand, does not seem to sense it as such and only rests a comforting hand on the man's arm. The golden flecks in her gaze are once more bright, all ill will held towards him vanishing as she comforts the man before her.

"Azar is right." Sargon finally speaks, stepping back from the girl's grasp and looking towards Farah. The princess nods, silently approving of the choice he has made. It seems to further pacify him and he regains the confidence in his posture after only a few moments. "She can help us. And, I trust her to keep the medallion safe."

"She is a burden." He argues, throwing the weight of his hand in Azar's direction. She lets out a sharp laugh, but says nothing. It only serves to irritate him further and it takes more patience than he cares to admit not to once more being arguing with her. "Am I the only one who can see that the costs outweigh the benefits in this situation? She does not even know our enemy. Nor does she know what power that trinket carries."

Irritated as well, Azar steps forward. Farah tries too sooth the girl's anger, grasping for her hands and arms before letting out a frustrated noise of her own. Like Sargon, she seems to be sick of the bickering between them. It does nothing to stop the healer from speaking, "Then you will have to catch me up on the particulars."

A huff of air from his mouth sends several strands of tangled, white hairs forward, before they once more settle upon his face. He wrinkles his nose in response, ready to be done with her. "Do you recall when I said your determination was only an admirable quality in the right amounts?"

Her fists tighten, "I could say the same for your stubbornness."

"Both of you. That is enough." Farah commands, finally stepping forward until she is between them. Her dark eyes have narrowed and her shoulders have once more tensed, though this time there is no fear that accompanies the change in her posture. "Fighting amongst each other will get us nowhere. If we wish to defeat this enemy, we will have to work together."

He opens his mouth to speak – to interrupt the princess's words with a sensible argument, or a clever quip. She only raises her hand to stop him, one slender finger pointed in his direction in a vaguely threatening manner. He finds, to some annoyance, that words are lost to him and he retreats back to silence like a shamed child. Farah, meanwhile, continues. "Sargon is right. Are you so blind to strategy? Azar is a valuable ally to us – one who can keep us alive with her knowledge."

She rests her hands upon her hips then, glancing between the both of them for a moment and sighing, "Not only that, but she is more trustworthy than you, demon."

He tries to ignore the strange, sharp emotion that settles in his stomach at her words and instead smiles, his lips tight and one corner rising slightly. "Well, now you've gone and hurt my feelings."

"She is right." Azar says, crossing her arms over herself tightly and turning to look intensely at the wall before them. "We cannot win this battle divided. The medallion will stay with me and I with you. By doing so, you have access to both it and my talents - surely those terms are acceptable?"

A heavy breath pushes through the girl's lips and her hips cock slightly away from him. After a moment, one where she appears to be continuing her intense contemplation of the wall in front of her, she finally turns towards him. With hesitation, she extends her hand in his direction and he notes that for such intelligent creatures, humans have found a strange and dangerous way to communicate their begrudging trust towards one another. Carefully, he reaches forward with his own hand, grasping her small palm with his own. They pause briefly, their eyes meeting and he wonders if she feels the same strange respect towards him that he feels for her, before shaking.

"It would appear that I have no other choice." He says, noting the unpleasant feeling that comes with having to ally with two enemies in one day. "After all, it is as I said: I am not the one in charge."

No one comments on his words, though he suspects that is because they all know it to be true. Instead Sargon finally steps forward and towards the small gathering they have created with their alliance. A strange and small army, but one that will stay mostly hidden from the eyes of their enemy while soldiers continue to help the citizens escape the walls of the city. He wonders though, how long they can all last. Or at least how long until he cannot help but turn on them. Sargon seems to sense this and a deep frown falls onto his one stoic face, "It seems our adventures begin once again."

"Yes, well. We should move then." The demon begins, stepping back from the small crowd. Yet another strange feeling has settled in his stomach, but unlike the last it floats in his chest as well. Not unpleasant, but still unwelcome. "After all, time is not on our side."


A/N:

i) We have a discord server! That's right, I made a Prince of Persia video game discord server for fans of all the games. Enjoy the original trilogy? Want to gush about Sands of Time? Need friends to discuss the 2008 reboot? Just send me a message, or follow this link without spaces; discord . gg /XHhPg6X