Chapter 14: A girl's fate should be to make her own
Morgiana POV
15 minutes later.
The marketplace buzzed with a nervous energy. The remnants of the masters servants blood had spread from the cobblestones and into the dirt,the stench of fear, a sharp, metallic tang, still lingered in the air.
The crowds were thinner than usual, their movements hesitant, their gazes darting towards the towering figure who stood in the center of the square.
Tereda.
The man who had declared himself Emperor, the man who had abolished slavery with a single, earth-shattering decree, the man who radiated a power that made the air crackle and the ground tremble.
He stood beside the two women who had accompanied him, their beauty as unsettling as their power.
The pink-haired one, Ram, watched the crowd with a cool disdain, her eyes sharp, her posture radiating a silent threat.
The blue-haired one, Rem, the one who had called me "sister," held my hand, her grip gentle but firm, her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of concern and encouragement.
I still didn't understand what had happened. One moment, I was facing the wrath of Jamil's men, my newfound freedom as false as a mirage in the desert.
The next, the slavers were dead, their bodies scattered like broken dolls, and Tereda, his voice booming like thunder, was declaring a new order.
My thoughts were scattered.
He arrived.
Jamil.
My master.
He rode into the marketplace on a magnificent black stallion, his opulent robes billowing in the wind, his face a mask of cold fury.
His guards, their scimitars gleaming in the sunlight, fanned out around him, their eyes scanning the crowd, their expressions a mirror of their master's rage.
"Who dares usurp my authority?!" Jamil roared, his voice echoing through the square. "Who dares defy the ancient laws of Qishan? Show yourself, coward!"
Tereda stepped forward, his gaze meeting Jamil's, his expression a chilling blend of amusement and disdain.
"You are Jamil, I presume?" he asked, his voice calm, almost bored.
"I am Jamil, King of Qishan!" he thundered. "And you will kneel before me and beg forgiveness for your transgressions!"
Tereda chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.
"Kneel?" he echoed, his voice laced with a mockery that made even Jamil's guards flinch. "You misunderstand. I am not here to beg. I am here to rule. Since you don't want to follow my laws-"
He drew his sword, its blade a whisper of death, the air around him crackling with energy.
Jamil's hand instinctively went to the jeweled scimitar at his hip, but before he could draw it, Rem stepped forward, her hand gently resting on Tereda's arm.
"Wait," she said, her voice soft but firm. "There is another way."
I noticed Jamil couldn't move.
He and his horse were frozen in place by an unseen force.
She turned to me, her blue eyes meeting mine, her expression full of concern and pity. "Morgiana," she said, her voice gentle. "Would you like to know what truly lies in your master's heart?"
I stared at her, confused. What did she mean? What could she possibly show me that I didn't already know? Jamil was my master. He had saved me from a life of misery, had given me purpose, and had promised me a future.
Rem, seemingly sensing my hesitation, smiled. "Trust me, little sister," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Sometimes, the truth is more powerful than any weapon."
She turned to Tereda, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "Give her the potion that allows her to read thoughts."
Tereda, his gaze lingering on me for a moment, his expression unreadable, nodded. He reached into midair as a strange ripple appeared around it, and retrieved a vial filled with a shimmering golden liquid.
"Drink this, Morgiana," he said, handing me the vial. "It will open your eyes to the truth."
My hand trembled as I took the vial, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat of the desert sun.
What would I see? What would I hear?
Fear, a cold knot in my stomach, warred with a flicker of curiosity.
I uncorked the vial and drank.
The golden liquid slid down my throat, a strange tingling sensation spreading through my limbs. The marketplace, which had been a blur of motion and sound, sharpened, the details becoming crisper, the colors more vibrant.
Then, the world shifted.
A wave of unseen energy, a force that I could feel but not see, swept across the square, silencing the murmurs, freezing the crowd in place, their expressions locked in a tableau of shock and awe.
Jamil, his face contorted with rage, suddenly found himself lifted from his saddle, his body rising effortlessly into the air, his arms pinned to his sides, his legs dangling uselessly. He landed on his knees before Tereda, his posture forced into a position of supplication, his pride shattered, his power nullified.
He could only move his head, his eyes darting around in panicked confusion, his lips forming words that were swallowed by the stunned silence.
"Jamil," Rem said, her voice soft but firm, her gaze fixed on the immobilized king, "do you need Morgiana?"
"Of course I need her!" Jamil spat, his voice laced with a desperate bravado. "She is my property, my loyal servant. Return her to me at once!"
His words were a lie.
I heard his thoughts, a venomous stream of hatred and disdain, a stark contrast to the facade he presented to the world.
Foolish girl, he thought, his mind a cesspool of cruelty. I have a hundred slaves just like her. Strong, obedient, expendable. She means nothing to me.
My heart, which had clung to a sliver of hope, a desperate belief in the bond I'd forged with my master, shattered. The years of servitude, the pain, the fear, the whispered promises of freedom and reward - all a lie.
Rem, her blue eyes meeting mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us, continued her interrogation.
"And her loyalty," she asked, her voice deceptively gentle, "will it be noticed? Rewarded?"
"Of course," Jamil blustered, his gaze darting towards the silent crowd, seeking support, finding only fear. "Morgiana has served me faithfully for years. She will be rewarded for her loyalty, I promise you."
Another lie.
Loyalty? his thoughts sneered. As if a slave could ever be truly loyal. She serves me out of fear, nothing more. And when this is over, I'll make sure she regrets ever defying me. Seven days. Seven days of uninterrupted torture. That will be her reward.
The last vestiges of my loyalty, the chains of fear and obligation that had bound me for so long, snapped. Betrayal, cold and sharp, pierced through me, leaving behind a hollow ache.
Jamil, my master, the man I had served, the man I had feared, the man I had… loved, was a monster.
Jamil's thoughts echoed in my mind, a venomous chorus of cruelty and deceit. Each hateful word, each dismissive thought, chipped away at the carefully constructed facade of loyalty and affection that I had clung to for so long.
It was a lie. All of it.
A wave of nausea washed over me, a sickening realization that I had been living in a prison of my own making, bound by chains forged not of iron, but of fear and a twisted, manufactured love.
I knew he was a monster, a voice, small and hesitant, whispered in the depths of my mind. I always knew.
The whippings, the beatings, the endless hours spent chained in the darkness, the constant threat of pain, the carefully calibrated doses of kindness and affection, designed to break my spirit, to warp my perception, to mold me into a tool, an object, a possession.
It had all been a lie.
The love I felt for Jamil, the loyalty that burned within me, it wasn't real. It was just another flavor of fear, a twisted reflection of the terror that had been etched into my very being.
And in that moment of shattering realization, I felt something else. A warmth, a gentle strength, a flicker of genuine affection for the woman who stood beside me, her hand holding mine, her blue eyes filled with a compassion I had never experienced before.
Rem.
My sister.
The love I felt for her, though new, though fragile, was more real, more powerful, than anything I had ever felt for Jamil.
It was then that Tereda spoke, his voice a calm, measured counterpoint to the chaos swirling within me.
"He's weak, Morgiana," he said, his gaze fixed on the immobilized Jamil. "Not just physically, but in every way. He rules through fear, through manipulation, through the exploitation of those weaker than himself."
He turned to me, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, now holding a flicker of something akin to empathy.
"Do you want to break free from his chains, Morgiana?" he asked, his voice soft but firm. "Do you want to forge your own fate?"
He gestured towards the fallen slavers, their bodies lying still on the bloodstained cobblestones.
"Their fate was sealed the moment they chose to profit from the suffering of others," he continued. "But yours… your fate is still unwritten. You have a choice."
He reached into his strange, invisible storage space and retrieved a weapon- a heavy cudgel, its wood worn smooth by sanding and wickedly attached with a few iron bumps that could barely be called spikes.
"You can do the honors, Morgiana," he said, offering me the weapon. "Show him-, show everyone that you are no longer a slave."
My hand trembled as I took the cudgel, its weight unsettling.
"But… but my fate," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm a Fanalis. A slave. It's all I've ever known."
Rem squeezed my hand, her grip reassuring. "The best way to build a new fate, little sister," she said, her voice a gentle whisper, "is to smash the old one to pieces."
I looked at Jamil, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear, his eyes pleading, his thoughts a frantic scramble for escape, for mercy, for a power he no longer possessed.
And something within me shifted.
The fear, the ingrained obedience, the twisted loyalty- it all evaporated, replaced by a surge of righteous anger, a desire for justice, a need to break free.
I stepped forward, the cudgel heavy in my hand, my gaze meeting Jamil's, my heart pounding with a newfound strength.
And I struck.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The sound of wood against flesh, a sickening thud that echoed through the marketplace, was a symphony of liberation.
Jamil's screams, muffled by the blood that filled his throat, were music to my ears.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, their faces a mixture of horror and awe, as I, the slave girl, the Fanalis, the one who had been broken, beaten, and molded into a tool, took back my power.
As Jamil's body crumpled, his lifeblood staining the cobblestones crimson, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, a sense of freedom so profound it took my breath away.
I was no longer a slave.
I was Morgiana.
And my fate, for the first time, was truly my own.
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
-- Power
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