The market was quieter than usual. Kasim noticed it first — fewer voices, fewer carts, fewer smells of spice and bread. The air felt heavy, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Arjun walked beside him, his cloak pulled tight. "Something is wrong," he said.
Kasim nodded. He could hear it too. Not the usual noise of Lumora, but whispers. Short, sharp, unfinished.
They turned into a narrow lane. A butcher's stall stood empty, knives left on the table, blood drying on the wood. Kasim wrinkled his nose. The smell was sour, old.
"Where is everyone?" Kasim asked.
Arjun's eyes scanned the rooftops. "Hiding. Or waiting."
A sound broke the silence — boots on stone. A group of men appeared, dressed in fine robes but carrying blades. Nobles' guards again.
One of them stepped forward. His face was familiar. Kasim frowned. "That's Lord Daren's man. He was at the council."
The guard smirked. "The council speaks one way in public, another in private. They have decided. The shard belongs to us."
Arjun's jaw tightened. "So they betray their own word."
The guard shrugged. "Words are wind. Steel is truth."
Kasim's hand went to his blade. His palms were sweaty. He hated that they could see it.
Arjun whispered, "Stay calm. Watch their feet, not their mouths."
The guards advanced. The street echoed with the scrape of steel. Kasim's heart thudded in his chest. He smelled sweat, leather, and the faint smoke from a nearby chimney.
The first guard lunged. Kasim blocked, but the clash rattled his arms. He stumbled back, almost tripping over a loose stone.
"Clumsy again," the guard sneered.
Kasim's teeth clenched. He steadied himself, adjusted his grip, and struck. His blade cut across the man's sleeve, drawing blood. The guard cursed, stepping back.
Another came forward. Kasim heard his boots before he saw the strike. He ducked, the blade slicing air above his head. He rose quickly, swinging upward. The clash rang out, sharp and loud.
Arjun fought beside him, his movements precise, his strikes clean. He did not waste effort. Kasim tried to copy, but his arms shook, his breath uneven.
The fight ended as quickly as it began. Two guards lay wounded, the others retreating. Their leader spat on the ground. "This is not over. The court will not forgive you."
They vanished into the alleys.
Kasim lowered his blade, his chest heaving. He wiped sweat from his brow. "They lied. They said I was chosen."
Arjun's voice was calm, but his eyes were hard. "Chosen only when it suits them. Betrayal is the court's true language."
Kasim looked at the shard glowing faintly under his cloak. "Then what do we do?"
Arjun placed a hand on his shoulder. "We prepare. They will strike harder next time. And when they do, you must be ready not just to fight… but to lead."
Kasim swallowed. The word lead felt heavy. He was still just a boy, wasn't he? Yet the city whispered his name, and the court feared his shard.
That night, Kasim sat alone. He thought of the butcher's stall, the smell of blood, the sneer of the guard. He thought of betrayal, sharp and silent. He whispered to himself, "I will not break."
But deep inside, he wondered — when the nobles came again, with more blades and more lies, would he stand… or fall?