After hours of walking—and more than a few sharp words exchanged—they finally crossed into Mehraza. The border guards inspected their passes with cold efficiency, their eyes lingering on the army insignia stitched into Saad's cloak. Suad smirked behind his blindfold, rolling his eyes freely at the pomp and ceremony. All this for a stamp and a nod. What a joke.
Mehraza was not a large kingdom. It boasted only three cities, including its capital, Hazard, a modest seat of governance nestled far inland. Their pilgrimage would not take them through Hazard or the other city; their destination lay elsewhere—Merz, the port city on the edge of the Dawi border.
The guards waved them through, and a soldier escorted them to a modest inn in the nearest village. Saad felt a flicker of relief—they had made it past the first checkpoint without incident. But her mind was already racing ahead. Every step mattered. Every delay could cost her the promotion she had dreamed of for years.
Suad noticed the way she straightened her uniform before entering the inn, as if the dusty road hadn't already ruined its crispness. She'd polish her boots in her sleep if she could, he thought bitterly. The army had ruined her from him long ago—rules at the dinner table, conduct recited like prayers. And now this pilgrimage? It wasn't just a mission. It was her obsession.
The next morning, they set out toward Merz, the largest city in Mehraza and their first destination. Saad kept her pace brisk, her eyes scanning the horizon. Suad trailed behind, humming softly, his thoughts drifting.
Merz wasn't always a jewel of trade. Once, it was a grim military outpost guarding against the Dawi barbarians—mountain tribes dismissed as savages. But everything changed five years ago, when the Dawi unearthed the Black Orb, a relic that generated endless fuel and power. Overnight, the barbarians became kings. Villages turned into cities. Wealth poured down the mountains like molten gold.
Now, Merz stood as a gateway to fortune. Merchants from every corner of the world flocked here, desperate to court the Dawi and their inventions. The city had been scrubbed and polished for foreign eyes—gleaming markets, ornate halls, taverns spilling with laughter. But beneath the glitter lay rot.
Saad had read the reports: witch burnings every week, warlocks stoned in the squares. Public executions dressed up as theater for visiting dignitaries. The more Merz opened its gates to outsiders, the tighter it chained its own people.
By dusk, the city rose before them.
Merz loomed like a fortress carved from shadow. Stone walls clawed at the sky, their jagged edges blackened by soot. Iron gates yawned wide, swallowing travelers whole. Smoke curled from chimneys, staining the air with the bitter tang of coal and ash. Narrow streets twisted like veins, choked with carts and cloaked figures.
Suad tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips. Welcome to paradise, he thought dryly. Saad, however, felt a chill settle in her bones. This wasn't the shining city of trade the reports promised. This was a cage.
As they passed under the archway, a crowd gathered in the square ahead. Saad slowed, her eyes narrowing. A wooden stake stood at the center, flames licking its base. A figure writhed against the ropes, screaming as fire devoured flesh.
Suad's smile faded. A witch burning. Just like the rumors.
Saad clenched her fists, forcing herself to keep walking. The army's code demanded composure. But inside, something twisted—a question she didn't dare voice.
What kind of pilgrimage begins in a place like this?