A battalion of black-clad soldiers rushed down the hall and surrounded the infirmary doors in a semicircle, spears leveled and ready to barge in.
Their orders were clear: a hostage for a hostage. All they needed to do was capture the girl, and they could retrieve their young prince.
However, before they could make the slightest move, the door swung open, letting out a single man. He looked exhausted. And yet, it only served to amplify his deadly glare. He had two daggers in his hands, the left one secured tight with white bandages.
" This is a place for the ill to rest. What do you think you're doing, disturbing it?"
As he stepped into the hallway, the infirmary door closed behind him.
He faced the battalion, his resolve unflappable as he assumed a fighting stance, undaunted by their numbers or weapons.
He was never one to leave things to fate.
Much less to magic.
So he would fight to keep Zarqa safe.
With his own hands.
