Chapter One: The Girl Who Smiles Too Much
Isha had perfected the art of smiling without feeling any thing.
It was a soft smile. Harmless. Polite. The kind teachers liked and classmates trusted. The kind that made adults say, "She's such a good girl."
She wore it like a uniform.
At fifteen, Isha knew three things very well: How to laugh at jokes that hurt her. How to swallow anger before it reached her tongue. And how to make sure nobody ever saw her shake.
Overachiever int highschool buzzed every morning like a restless hive. Lockers slammed. Girls screamed over gossip. Boys threw crumpled paper across corridors. The smell of chalk dust and perfume mixed with heat.
Isha moved through it all like a ghost in daylight.
"ISHA!" Tyla shouted, rushing toward her. "Did you finish the math assignment?"
"Yes," Isha said, smiling.
She had finished it at 2:13 a.m.
She had finished it after staring at her ceiling for an hour, her mind racing like it was running from something.
She had finished it after the strange dream.
But she didn't mention that.
Because Isha didn't mention things.
That was her specialty.
They walked to class together, Tyla talking nonstop about a fight between two seniors. Isha nodded at the right times. Laughed softly when expected.
Inside, something felt… distant.
Like she was standing slightly behind her own eyes.
As if she were watching herself perform.
It started two months ago.
The dreams.
She would wake up with the smell of smoke in her lungs. Her heart pounding like drums in a distant parade. Her fingers curled tightly, as if gripping something heavy.
A sword.
But that was ridiculous.
Isha had never held a weapon in her life.
She hated violent movies. She cried during war documentaries.
Yet in her dreams, she stood on a battlefield.
Not as a victim.
As a commander.
"Earth to Isha."
She blinked.
The classroom came back into focus.
Mr. Adrisn was staring at her. "Would you like to answer the question?"
Her classmates turned.
Thirty pairs of eyes.
Her smile rose automatically.
"Yes sir."
Her voice didn't shake.
It never did.
She answered perfectly. Of course she did. Isha was top five in her class. Responsible. Reliable. Unproblematic.
Mr. Adrian nodded approvingly.
"Excellent."
The class moved on.
But her hands were cold.
Because for a second—
Just a second—
When she looked at the board, it wasn't a board.
It was a map.
Marked with red ink.
And she knew exactly where to position the troops.
At lunch, she sat with her friends under the date tree.
They talked about boys.
About Instagram.
About an upcoming inter-school competition.
Isha chewed slowly.
Listened.
Smiled.
Inside her head, a voice whispered:
Weak.
She froze.
The word wasn't loud.
It wasn't even angry.
It was calm.
Cold.
Disappointed.
Isha pressed her nails into her palm.
She must be tired.
That was all.
She hadn't been sleeping well.
That's what this was.
Stress.
Hormones.
Normal.
Perfectly normal.
That night, the dream came back.
But this time it wasn't smoke.
It was red silk.
It wrapped around her arms like ceremonial armor. Gold embroidery traced dragons across her sleeves. Her hair was heavy, pinned high, adorned with jade.
She stood before thousands of soldiers.
And they knelt.
Not to a king.
To her.
A woman stepped forward, armor gleaming.
Her face was Isha's.
But older.
Sharper.
Her eyes held no hesitation.
"No mercy," the woman said.
Her voice was steady. Commanding.
Ancient.
Isha tried to speak.
But she wasn't in control.
She was watching.
Watching as her own hands lifted a sword.
Watching as she turned toward the battlefield.
Watching as the sky burned orange.
She woke up gasping.
Her room was dark.
Her bedsheets twisted around her legs.
Her heart pounded like war drums.
And for the first time—
She didn't feel scared.
She felt… powerful.
In the mirror, her reflection stared back.
Normal.
Soft.
Fifteen.
But for a flicker of a second—
Her eyes looked older.
Hardened.
As if they had seen blood.
She blinked.
It was gone.
She smiled at herself.
Perfect.
Convincing.
And somewhere deep inside her mind—
The general smiled back.