The cart rattled along the endless brown road, its wheels creaking against the dry earth. Saad sat stiffly, her gaze fixed on the window. Brown. Everything was brown—the road, the fields, the hills in the distance. The monotony pressed down on her like a weight, and for a moment, she felt a pang of despair
Across from her, Suad hummed a cheerful tune, oblivious to her mood. The sound grated on her nerves. Here they were, finally chosen for the pilgrimage—a mission that could change their lives—and he was acting as if they were on a leisurely ride to the market.
Saad clenched her jaw. This pilgrimage was everything to her. Success meant promotion, recognition, and a chance to rise beyond the rank of captain. For Suad, a lieutenant, it meant becoming a captain himself. Yet he sat there, humming, carefree as ever.
It had always been like this. She worked hard, carried burdens that weren't hers, while he drifted through life with that infuriating charm. Even as children, she had been the responsible one. She remembered the countless times her parents had urged her: "Take care of your brother, Saad. He's younger. He needs you." And she did. She shielded him from trouble, helped him with chores, even covered for him when he shirked his duties.
Her father, a cook at the village restaurant, and her mother, a farmer, believed in tradition. Every child was assigned a profession based on the year they were born. Changing that path was possible—but difficult, requiring endless approvals and signatures. Most never bothered. But Suad? He was born in the dancers' year and convinced their parents to let him switch to the army—because of her. They thought it was sweet, that he didn't want to be separated from his sister. But Saad knew better. He wanted her help. He wanted her to carry him, as always.
And she did. Even now, she bore the weight of his choices. What angered her most was his lack of seriousness. While she trained relentlessly, he spent his time drinking at taverns or sneaking into pleasure houses with their cousin Masood. People adored him—his fair skin, silver hair, tall frame, and easy smile drew them in. Unlike her. Saad was short, brown-skinned, brown haired, and plain. Her height was a sore subject, one Suad never missed a chance to tease.
"Hey," she said suddenly, breaking the silence. "How tall are you, anyway?"
Suad stopped humming and grinned, his blindfold hiding his eyes but not his smugness.
"Taking an interest in me now?" His tone was mocking, and Saad felt her temper spike.
"Just answer." she scolded.
He twirled his head playfully. "I'm 192 centimeters—about six-foot-three. You know… tall as a tree." Then, with a smirk, he added, "You shorty."
Saad felt a vein throb in her temple. "I'm not short. You're just unnaturally tall." She turned back to the window, forcing herself into silence.
He seemed to wait for her to say something else, but she continued to close her eyes, The cart creaked on. She could feel his gaze on her, then it faded. She relaxed slightly. She hated that blindfold—it hid his eyes, his emotions. She wanted to rip it off, but rules were rules. The second-in-command covered their eyes; the first covered their mouth. Even on special missions like this, there were no exceptions.
For Saad, the army's code was sacred. She lived by it—even at home. Suad, on the other hand, lived by his own rules. He flaunted, he mocked, he rebelled. And it made her furious
Suad
Sitting across from his sister, Suad thought about the pilgrimage. A mission that happened every five years, where two soldiers were chosen to journey to the sacred city. Those who returned were rewarded with wealth and rank.
For Saad, this was everything. He could see it in her rigid posture, the way her jaw tightened whenever the mission was mentioned. She wanted that promotion so badly it disgusted him. Her blind loyalty to the army, her obsession with rules; The army had her full attention now, even at home. She followed its rules like scripture, reciting conduct at the dinner table, living every breath by regulations—it was pathetic.
For him, this mission meant nothing. Just another job. He was only here because of his parents. They had pressured him endlessly: "Take care of your sister, Suad. She's strong, but she needs you." He laughed bitterly at the memory. Saad never knew. She thought she was the one protecting him all these years. But the truth? He was protecting her too—just in ways she'd never understand.
Behind his blindfold, Suad rolled his eyes freely, mocking the priest's solemn tone without fear of being caught. That was the one advantage of the eye cover—it hid everything. It wasn't just for show; it marked his rank as a lieutenant. Normal soldiers wore full-face masks, captains covered only their mouths, and the higher-ups? They didn't cover their faces at all. Instead, they drank a special potion that kept their expressions neutral. Suad suspected they used it constantly—that would explain the permanent stick up their asses.
He hated all the commanders, and the higher-ups. Sometimes, he hated Saad too—her obsession with them, her desperate need to serve them, to climb their rigid ladder of ranks.
When the carriage rolled away, he grinned at her. She sighed, already knowing what he wanted. Without speaking, she told him their destination: the first city. He suspected this was a test, that they were being watched. But he kept that to himself. No need to shatter her perfect trust in the army.
They saddled up and began the long walk. Great. Not only was this pilgrimage suspicious—it was going to be exhausting