9.1
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Chills slid down Yazia's spine as a soft breeze tousled her hair into buoyant curls. Her eyes never left the dry desert, where troops of competitors of the tournament were parading around with their blades. She hadn't realised, but her body grew tense with unease over the King's warning. Or should she say, threat?

She had known before that coming into Abingorian territory would be a difficult task, so why did it surprise her now that there would be greater complications? That it would be unfit for any lone individual to venture into the kingdom of their enemies with an estranged task; to not only usurp a devious king, but to also get away with it.

This was not going to be quick.

Just above the sound of her beating heart, and warm water drooling from the fountain, Yazia could no longer make out the footsteps of the King. She didn't need her eyes to believe he was now out of sight from where she stood. Out of sight, and he'd be out of mind too.

Sand scattered inside the pit below her as the sound of a body crashed. She gazed downwards to see one of the mortals on the ground—the other, with a sword to his opponent's throat. Yazia couldn't help but find herself wandering down the steps onto the wasteland to where they were practising.

When she approached, her eyes travelled from the sword that was grasped tightly onto the man's hand, the blade pressed against the throat of a familiar face. Sweat glistened from the brown of his skin as the opponent helped to haul him back up from the ground. Then moments later, his eyes met hers.

Aeneas then rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping at the dirt he had collected and came closer to Yazia. "Well, am I glad to see you're still alive then," he said, "what pays you a visit?"

"So this is that confidential matter that you decided to sign up for? You didn't tell me you'd be a contender for the tournament."

"Come, Malya, we barely knew anything about one another back then," he said, "besides, there was never a conversation that we had where I could bring it up."

Says the one that always disappeared at the most disapproving of times...

"Okay well, it's highly unlikely that you are going to win any battle lying on the ground," she said and gazed at the weapon mount. "Let me help you."

Yazia didn't wait for a response as she came to unsheath a blade from the mount. There were numerous weapons of all sorts at the stack, but none of them could compare to what she had back at the Sankorian refuge before the attack. But then again, she was lucky to feel the weight of a new hilt once more, let alone to be able to keep up with her sword skills. She had been careful too long. Yazia temporarily admired the sword she had chosen in her hand; it reminded her of the first blade her Father had gifted to her.

"I needn't your help. I already know how it is you fight, remember." Aeneas came next to her. "And besides, perhaps differentiating between swords is not your strong suite. We will not be using this." He took the blade from her hand, and replaced it with a new one. "Ever used a scimitar, Your Highness?"

Yazia snatched the sword from him, and narrowed her eyes. "You'd do well not to test me, Prince of Silvern," she hissed quietly, "there are lots of things I can do that ought to take you by surprise."

The prince cocked a brow in response and chuckled, as though he were taunting her. Yazia's gut twisted. For no matter the overtures of peace they could have, this time felt different. This time it didn't feel like play, Aeneas was going in for the kill.

"Take me by surprise then, sweet royalty. Show me what you've got." Aeneas gave a disingenuous smile and turned to the wooden mount of varying blades. He aggressively wrested one out. The glint of the silver coruscated in the light of the light of the scorching sun above them, another scimitar.

Yazia looked down at her own and inspected it. She felt the weight of the thick, laden blade, though its leather-bound hilt and metal of the cross guard helped to stabilise it. She commonly practised with heavy blades at home, so if he'd expected her to falter at this first task, Aeneas was wrong.

This would be as easy as practising an instrument she'd played before.

She gave it a few swift swings and adjusted her stance to compensate for the weight of the blade. If he did in fact have foul intentions, she'd be sure to make the first move. One shared look, Yazia shut out all surrounding distractions. Only the tiny part of Nelaria that they inhabited at this moment mattered.

She watched as Aeneas stepped forward, his blade swung in mock offence. She wouldn't wait to be cut short, Yazia launched forward in a daunting attack and clashed her sword against his. No conversations, no salutes or gestures. Here in the opening was pure unpredictability.

He barely managed to intercept. Yazia would not play this fight with ease, nor even a fair game. She'd cheat to prove her point if she had to as he and anyone that crossed her path would sure to never underestimate her again. Yazia refused to falter with her movements despite any insisting attack he'd make. A swarm of anger began to boil within her.

Another cut to the air in his direction. He dodged the attack and responded with a downswing, and then again. It wasn't long before his blade forced her backwards, skidding on the gravel and lifting dust into the air. He prowled sideways and attacked again, pounding at each block she made to guard herself. At first, she thought that he may have been playing it safe, but the closer he approached her, the more bloodthirsty Aeneas seemed to get.

Yazia swung her blade at his exposed side. Aeneas lunged sideways to avoid it. The swift breeze around them became the orchestral conductor of their song as the clash of polished metal slithered through the air. Blade slicing through the air, again and again.

Her one true desire from this feud was seemingly derived from a spoonful of utter spite. Despite the anger that continued to radiate from him ever since the first day they'd fought, Yazia felt something different amidst. A fury appeared to awaken inside of him, and one thing was left for certain; there was no gentleman left.

"You're too predictable when you wield. I can practically sense your aggression and your next move from a mile away," Aeneas spat. A trickle of sweat ran down the sides of his face.

I intend to win this fight no matter what, even if it takes me until sundown!

Yazia grit her teeth and a tight exhale escaped her lips. She pushed from the balls of her feet and swung once more, daring to get inches closer.

Not an inconvenience in the world could prevent her from winning against him once more, not even the sweat that poured from her palm. Yazia adjusted her stance quickly, though the ache lashing through her legs almost made it impossible. Her sword-wielding wavered around the hilt like a leaf in the wind, fingers threatening to break from its weight. Like a ploy in their duel, the blade convinced her to give in and kneel.

To lose.

Not today.

Yazia cut from one side to the other. Aeneas counter attacked and with each cut to the air, he released a grunt. They rapidly mutated into thrusts. She was quick to dodge. Their blades collided once more as she narrowed in on him.

Locking eyes with her prey, she quickly remembered the time her father had once told her how the eyes were like spheres that told stories. Yazia was never good at her readings as a child, but with one look, he was seething; his eyes merely dead inside. She struggled to grasp her understanding of what the menacing glint that shone in Aeneas really was.

Within this moment's weakness, Aeneas swung his blade heavy towards her. She sent her sword to block his attack, but the beam of sunlight raining down on them both hindered her vision and she faltered. It felt like ice had slid across her skin, cutting a slice across her flustered cheek.

It happened so fast that Yazia couldn't correlate what had happened, but she quickly realised that now would've been a really smart time to disengage. But disengaging was a mere second's escape. She didn't have a mere second to waste. She couldn't, she wouldn't.

She didn't.

She levelled a downswing at the left of his leg, and he drove forward insistent on avoiding her attack but little did he know, he'd fallen into her bait.
In the resulting tangle, Yazia trapped his sword-hand between her arm and drove her knee upwards into his thigh. A grunt escaped his lips and she quickly pried the scimitar out of his loosened hand.

It clattered to the ground.

They stopped, and she panted for air. For a moment, the world seemed to blur when Yazia's heart pounded, rummaging inside of her ribcage for a breakout. The stickiness of blood dripped down from her cheek.

When sword fighting draws real blood from the skin, it is no longer just a sword fight.

Suddenly, Yazia's breath caught in her throat when her back collided abruptly against the wall. She scrabbled for any leverage to pry the large hands from her throat, choking on what little air she could muster.

Her heart, once quickly beating, now slowed in tempo. Yazia grew increasingly desperate. She gasped for air and squeezed her eyes closed tightly, instead, now stretching to reach for the jambiya beneath her covering.

Yazia felt his grip tightened around her oesophagus. Her heart thundered in her chest though her pulse felt elsewhere, beating against Aeneas' hand. Her eyes widened in fear and weaker, ragged gasps began to escape her throat.

The King of Abingor was right. She did need a blade more than she accounted for. She did need to do more to protect herself out in this wilderness. Monsters camouflage just like chameleons. Yazia hadn't just been blind, she'd closed her sights completely from Aeneas. She was stupid to believe he was going to truly help her. To believe that anyone would.

"P-please," she managed to sputter out, her fingers barely tracing across the hilt of the jambiya. It was too far down for her to grasp it and slice his throat within this moment, no matter how anguished she was.  Her grip loosened on his wrist and eyes dazed closed once more as she stumbled for energy.

Her body became heavy. It was too difficult a task to defend herself any further.

Aeneas grunted and tightened his grasp on her throat with his hands; they could be easily mistaken for poisonous talons at this rate. He pressed his weight against her frame, and locked her in. The world around them no longer existed to her, she couldn't see behind his stature.

This was it. This was going to be the end of her.
The world around her was crumbling, and Yazia couldn't help but briefly open her eyes with her remaining strength to look up at the skies. It was a grey brindle with the softest accents of white. It wasn't nearly the prettiest sight she'd seen, but a flurry of relief washed over her body at the thought of finally dying.

No more fighting. No more hiding and pretending to be somebody she wasn't. Somebody she could never be. Yazia was no killer, and this was too large of a task to complete.

Time seemed to slow, but all that she could think about were the warm eyes of her father. Yazia wondered if he would be disappointed in her. She'd hadn't lost up until this point, but perhaps losing was all that she'd needed to know that she was worthy of so much more. Joining him up in the stars felt peaceful. Yazia wanted to have that blissful feeling most within this very moment.

Dying was something she'd always feared, but now, it was an act she desperately wanted to be carried out. For it to all end once and for all. A lonesome tear slowly trickled down her cheek. This was it. This end became something she'd desired, and Aeneas simply was granting her wish.

Except he wasn't.

Yazia sputtered over and gasped for air, her fingers soiling with the warm, gritty sand. She lay helplessly, pulse vibrating through her entire being. Yazia heaved herself over with a splitting dizziness to lay on her side, facing the disruption that saved her life. A hand rested gently on her throat and the sudden feeling of bile had risen inside; her composure wavered, forcing herself not to pass out from lack of oxygen.

Aeneas had yanked his hand backwards from her throat only because of one thing. The curve of a scimitar blade was now pressed tightly against his exposed throat, with a woman's stature cutting it into his skin. Though to bestow a valorous deed of no mercy to the pathetic imbecile. Yazia's eyes briefly fluttered closed before she'd opened them again, silently hoping that the warrior would finish him before her eyes.

Kill him, please!

Aeneas didn't deserve mercy. Not after what he'd done to her.

The woman hissed out words to Aeneas, but Yazia received them in an incoherence as she fought to keep her eyes open. She focused on the blue silk of her saviour's billowing kameez, sunlight spilling over its thick, golden embroidery and crimson dupatta.

The sight almost made Yazia gasp, the air catching in the back of her throat when she'd realised who this woman was. Surely, she was from Jampur in Orekamb. Yazia had never been to the Kingdom of Orekamb but she remembered it was at the far west of Sankori. Yazia had wondered what had happened to their people over there. Orekamb was rumoured to be cutting contact with the rest of Nelaria long ago.

How Yazia longed to ask her questions.
Against the lustre of her dark brown skin, gilded bracelets and a headpiece--a tikka, as it was called in Almuharatia--dangled from her forehead, framed by the loose strands of the Jampurien's silken black hair.

With that, nausea swarmed her senses again, inhabiting its existence into her remaining source of energy, centring a hazy flame of a barricaded blur. Yazia closed her eyes. The sound of footsteps nearing closer blindfolded her senses, uncertain if she was no longer in danger or if Aeneas had come back to finish his task. Perhaps she'd never wake again.

The sensation of the sand trembled beneath her as she quickly slipped away. It trespassed into her body, compressing against her ribs and narrowing her already skeletal breath. The thought of freedom elasticised the weariness of her being. An incomprehension of words murmured around her, coating her like a cotton battania. But before she reacted to it, Yazia spiralled out of consciousness.

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