The circle of firelight closed tighter. My fist was ready, Zainabu's scar glinted like a challenge, and for a heartbeat the whole camp held its breath.
Then a shadow split the crowd.
"Enough."
The voice was low, steady, and sharper than any blade. Recruits scattered instantly, as if a whip had cracked above their heads.
Iman stood there, tall, calm, his presence enough to drain the hunger from the crowd. His gaze was cold, lingering on me, then on Zainabu. He said no more than that one word, but it was command enough.
One by one, the circle broke apart. Zainabu smirked at me as she turned away, her little swarm of followers trailing after her. I let out the breath I had been holding and forced my hands to relax. My pride burned hotter than the fire, but I swallowed it. Not tonight.
Nala tugged my sleeve, guiding me back to our hollow by the fire. Danladi's shoulders were still tense. He muttered under his breath, "She's lucky Iman came."
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure if I was lucky—or cheated.
~~~
The morning broke cold.
The horn sounded before the first light, yanking us out of restless sleep. The ground was wet with dew, and every step bit like stone under bare feet. Recruits stumbled into the training field, eyes heavy, faces drawn.
Hamza was already there, waiting, her expression sharp as if she had been awake all night. "Line up," she barked.
We obeyed.
What followed was not sparring—it was punishment disguised as discipline.
We ran until our lungs felt torn. Push-ups until arms trembled like reeds. Mud clung to our knees and elbows. Buckets of water were hauled from the well to the kitchens, and more than one boy slipped in the wet grass, causing roars of laughter from those watching.
Nala collapsed beside me after a round of sit-ups, groaning. "My ribs… I think they're gone."
Danladi smirked and crouched next to her. "No, they're still there. They're just screaming louder than you." He offered her his hand, half-mocking, half-genuine. She took it anyway.
I pressed forward, ignoring the ache burning through my arms. If I faltered, if I showed weakness, I'd feed Zainabu more reasons to mock me. My pride was heavier than my pain.
The morning dragged into drills—stance, footwork, strikes repeated until they were no longer movements but rhythms beaten into our bones. Sweat blurred my vision; dust clung to my lips.
Zainabu caught my eye once, during a break. She was paired with another
recruit, tossing him into the dirt with an almost lazy flick. Her smile lingered on me, sharp as her scar.
"Rauni," she said softly, just loud enough to carry. "Rest well. I will soon finish what I started."
I bit my tongue.
By midday, Hamza called us together.
She stood at the head of the field, hands clasped behind her back, eyes scanning us like predators scan prey. When she finally spoke, the murmurs fell silent.
"In three days," she said, "you will face your first test. Fail it, and you leave this camp. Succeed, and you may yet earn the right to be called warriors."
A ripple of whispers tore through the recruits. Fear. Excitement. A few pale
faces in the crowd.
Beside me, Danladi leaned closer. "Three days? That's nothing. They want to break us quick."
Nala's voice was lower, uncertain. "What if it's… worse than sparring?"
I clenched my jaw, forcing calm into my voice. "Then we don't fail."
Hamza's eyes seemed to catch mine for the briefest second, and I felt the weight of her challenge settle directly on my shoulders.
That night, the camp quieted early. Fires dimmed to embers. The songs died to silence. One by one, recruits dropped into the heavy sleep that comes after exhaustion.
But I stayed awake.
When the last voices faded, I slipped from my mat and made my way back to the practice grounds. The moon was high, silvering the dust and shadows. My
body ached, but my heart burned hotter than the pain.
I raised my fists, practiced the stances, the steps. Again and again, until the sweat rolled cold down my spine. My breath came harsh, ragged, but I pushed on.
This test was no simple fight. It was my foothold in this camp. My one chance to prove I was not here to be mocked or discarded. If I failed, I would not only lose my place—I would lose myself.
"Amira?"
I froze.
Nala stood a few steps away, her face pale in the moonlight. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes heavy with sleep.
"What are you doing?" she whispered. "You'll collapse before the exam even
comes. Please—come back and rest."
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, shaking my head. "Better I collapse here than fail in front of all of them." My voice cracked, but I pressed on. "If I don't work harder, if I don't fight until there's nothing left in me… I'll be
thrown out before the week is over."
Her expression softened, but her voice was firm. "You're already strong. Stronger than most of them. You just don't see it yet."
I laughed bitterly. "Not stronger than Zainabu"
I sighed, releasing my stance. "Strength is nothing if no one else sees it. Tomorrow, the next day—every eye will be waiting for me to stumble. I can't give them that chance."
Nala didn't argue again. She just stood there, watching as I raised my fists once more, driving myself into the rhythm of strikes and steps.
The moon carved our shadows long across the dust, two figures standing in the silence of the camp—one stubborn, the other quietly loyal.
Three days. That was all the time I had.
And I swore by the fire in my chest, I would not fail.
Far beyond the moon light. Where the shadows stretched and silence reigned,
a pair of keen eyes followed her shifting figure. The Madawaki leaned against a
post, arms folded across his chest, unreadable in the gloom. His lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk—as if amused by a private thought. Then, without a word, he melted back into the darkness.