In the stone castle of Magda, the morning had started peaceful. The general and his tall wife shared a rare quiet moment in their private bath. The room was carved deep into the rock, with hot water bubbling up from natural springs below. Steam filled the air, thick and warm, carrying the sharp scent of mountain herbs they had scattered on the surface. She leaned back against his broad chest, eyes closed, letting the heat soak into her tired muscles. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. For once, there were no weapons nearby, no duties calling. Just them, skin against skin, breathing slow.
Then, out of nowhere, an arrow came whistling through the narrow window. It cut the steam like a knife, fast and silent until the last second.
The general saw it first. His eyes snapped open, body moving before thought. He twisted hard, shoving his wife to the side with one arm. The arrow meant for her heart buried deep into his upper arm instead. Pain exploded hot and sharp, like fire running through his veins. Blood bloomed red in the clear water.
She gasped, turning quick. "Are you hurt bad?"
He gritted his teeth, pulling her close again with his good arm. "Not bad enough. You okay?"
She nodded fast, already moving. Her hands—steady from years on the battlefield—grabbed the arrow shaft. With a quick twist and pull, she broke the tail off clean so it wouldn't catch on anything. Then she tore a long strip from her wet robe, wrapping it tight around the wound. Blood soaked through the cloth, but the pressure slowed it. He looked at the arrow tail and it had inscriptions on it, the script was northern and only the Jingis and the Kazakhs would use that alphabet. He however never had problems with the Kazakhs since they had a massive horse trade going on for centuries. His wife however decoded the language and it clearly said "A parting gift for the First Lady of Magda , the arrowhead is gold and worth as much as my dignity,"
"It must be the Jingis," he said low, voice rough with pain and anger. He stood up, water pouring off him. "Sound the alarm. Now."
He rushed downstairs, robe half-tied, barking orders as he went. Horns blared across the castle, deep and urgent. The whole place woke in seconds. Magda warriors grabbed their weapons—big axes, heavy swords, war hammers. Even the women, old folks, and older children picked up what they could. Everyone in Magda was trained for this. But today, many felt weak. Morning sickness hit hard—stomachs turning, heads spinning. They were lazy overall because the fight that morning caught them off guard.
The attack from the north was sudden. Jingis riders came like a black storm—thousands of them, horses thundering over snow, arrows raining down. Magda's huge warriors took charge fast, rushing to meet them. But the morning drowsiness made it tough from the start.
The plan was simple. The main warriors went first to the outskirts. Their job: hold the enemy there, stop them from reaching the main city. The men of the city formed the second line, ready at the walls and gates. Women, old people, and children were moved quick to deep mountain caves—safe places hidden and guarded.
But holding the line was harder than anyone thought. Jingis fighters were endless, fresh and strong. Magda's men fought brave—their war-hardened bodies pushing through pain and sickness. They held for hours, blood mixing with snow, shouts and clangs echoing in the cold air. Step by step they fell back, but slow, buying time. Finally, a messenger was chosen—fast rider on a tough horse. He galloped south, carrying the call for help to Hira.
High above, invisible in the clouds, Kia watched it all. A small smile tugged at his lips. This could be his chance. King Harlan loved war—the thrill of battle, the roar of armies. Even sick, he might jump from bed, lead Hira's forces himself with all those advanced weapons. Dragon chambers spitting fire, thunder throwers exploding in the sky, giant crossbows piercing lines. Kia went ahead and made the king more sick on purpose. He knew it would mean only a small force sent—tired men, not motivated, maybe turning back. Or no help at all. Queens could not go to battle. Old laws, strict rules—no exceptions. If Hira stayed away, the general would turn cold. Cut ties and blame them. The growing love would die there.
Kia dove down fast to stop the messenger. Wind from his wings whipped hard, trying to spook the horse. He reached out with telekinesis, pulling at reins to snap them. But a powerful force pushed back—strong, bright, like a wall of light. It shielded the rider, keeping the horse steady, path clear. Kia strained against it, muscles burning, but the force was too much. Gentle but unbreakable. The messenger raced on safe, reaching Hira in record time.
In Hira's palace, the messenger burst into the royal chambers, knees hitting the floor. King Harlan sat up in bed, looking better but still weak, face pale. "Jingis hit Magda? So sudden?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the man gasped. "Outskirts falling fast. They beg aid."
Harlan leaned back, thinking hard. A small cough escaped. "Sending my men against the most powerful army on earth… it's dangerous. If we lose them, our walls are weak. Any attack after, we'd be powerless. And Jingis—they don't forgive. Get on their bad side, they burn everything to ash."
Queen Shala stood close, heart beating fast. "Harlan, we signed peace. Magda is our ally now. We can't leave them alone."
He shook his head, eyes hard. Kia's distant spell made him stubborn, voice firm. "No, Shala," he coughed. "The risk is too big. I won't throw good lives away for the snowy mountains."
She tried again, soft words then stronger ones. But he waved her off, tiredness hitting from the sickness. "Enough. Let me sleep on it. My decision stands."
He dozed quick, breaths even. Shala waited until sure, then moved fast. No waiting anymore. She had the messenger stopped from leaving Hira and spoke to him privately . She then called trusted generals to the hall. Armor came immediate—shining plate made just for her, light but strong, etched with old runes. Sword at her side, helmet under arm.
In the courtyard, the army waited—rows and rows of soldiers, horses stamping. Shala faced them, voice strong and fierce, that commanding aura filling the space.
"We ride to Magda," she said clear. "Jingis wants to break our peace. We won't let them. An attack on Magda would entice them and Hira would be next on the list , Jingis is inevitable in such cases. Who here is scared to face the Jingis army? Raise hand. Stay back. No shame in truth."
Quiet first. Some hands went up slow—young faces, older ones worried. But as Shala stood tall, ready to lead, embarrassment spread. One by one, hands dropped. Scared men straightened, grabbing reins. No one stayed behind.
Shala mounted her big black horse, sword raised high. Moonlight caught the blade. "I lead you myself, as your queen and mother of the lands."
The cheer was loud, shaking the walls. Gates opened, and the army charged out—horses thundering into the night, torches flaming bright toward Magda.
Kia watched from above, plan falling apart. The queen—fierce, unbreakable—leading where the king feared. Bonds might grow stronger now, not break. The arrow's chaos was slipping from his hands.