Act 2, Scene 3 - The Silent Warrior
The warm night air barely eased the suffocating weight of his fury. The assassination attempt on his daughter was no ordinary intrusion—it was a personal betrayal.
The assailant had been swift, silent, and skilled—marking him as a member of the Sayeh-Kushan, an assassination guild so secretive that even the wealthiest could scarcely afford their services.
Who could it be? The thought gnawed at him. Someone close—perhaps a partner, someone who thought their ambition was safe behind a veil of loyalty.
But Sayid would find them.
He would not rest until he had uncovered the traitor. Could it be another clan, perhaps?
One that thought itself as powerful as the sun, but Sayid would throw them into darkness if he found proof it was one of them.
The clan leaders played at wealth and power, but none could rival his cunning.
The night’s events had left Sayid seething with anger.
He had always trusted those closest to him, but now he had to question every word, every look, every promise.
His robes, fine brocade embroidered with the noble crest of his house, clung to his muscles as he stormed down the winding stairs to the barracks.
The fabric was luxurious, a stark contrast to the violence brewing inside him.
Since he had been blessed only with daughters, and Mahin was the strongest and most capable among them, she had been destined for a political marriage.
An alliance with Niyaz Korshidian, the powerful son of Arash Korshidian, would expand his family’s wealth and influence.
The marriage was more than a union; it was a strategic move in the game of power.
As he descended into the barracks, Rahmin awaited him.
The head captain of his guard, Rahmin was not only his most trusted man but also his partner in matters of strategy.
Rahmin’s loyalty was as solid as stone, and tonight, it would be put to the test.
They would uncover who had dared to strike at Sayid’s family, and those responsible would meet their end swiftly.
Deep into the night, Rahmin and Sayid discussed plans, the quiet hum of their voices blending with the crackle of fire in the hearth.
The traitors would not escape justice.
Back in her chamber, Mahin lay awake, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on her.
Her father’s orders had been clear: double the guards.
But even with the extra protection, she knew that tonight was different. It wasn’t just another break-in; this was an attempt on her life.
The assassin had moved with terrifying grace, his clothes black as the void, blending into the shadows.
The Sayeh-Kushan guild was known for its deadly efficiency, and few could escape their wrath once marked as prey.
But there was something else, something that lingered in Mahin’s mind.
The warrior who had come to her aid. He was different—unlike any soldier she had ever seen before.
She had caught only glimpses of him, but the moonlight had revealed enough.
His hands were unnervingly smooth—too smooth for a man who wielded a sword.
Soldiers were not known for their fine hands.
But this warrior, his hands gleamed with the polish of wealth, his fingers adorned with golden rings that caught the light, catching her eye even in the dark.
It was the kind of detail that only someone like Mahin would notice, trained in combat and accustomed to the rough hands of men who fought at her side.
His rings… golden. The kind of jewelry soldiers rarely wore.
No, this man was no ordinary guard. He had wealth, and not the kind that came with rank or duty.
The glint of the rings in the dim light had been enough to spark her curiosity. Who was he?
As a daughter of Sayid, Mahin had been surrounded by men her entire life.
She knew the way they moved, the way they fought. She had spent years training with them, her body hardened and her skills honed.
But this warrior?
He had killed with the precision of a master, his every move flawless.
And yet, when the fight was over, he had not looked at her—not even once.
That was what bothered her the most. Why hadn’t he looked at her?
Mahin’s beauty was renowned.
Men had often admired her from afar, even before she spoke a word.
But this warrior, this man who had just saved her life, had ignored her completely.
She couldn’t fathom why.
Had she not caught his attention? Was he so indifferent? Was she so unworthy of a second glance?
No. It couldn’t be that.
The more she thought about it, the more her curiosity gnawed at her.
Why had he not looked at her? It wasn’t just that he was focused, or that he had been in a hurry.
She had seen it in the way his gaze had never strayed—he was determined not to look at her, and that puzzled her more than anything.
Was he afraid of her father’s wrath? She could understand that; Sayid’s reputation for violence was well-known.
But still, Mahin couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.
Her thoughts kept returning to him, to the warrior’s hands—his smooth, unweathered hands, the kind of hands that didn’t belong to a soldier.
She had caught a glimpse of the golden rings that adorned them, symbols of wealth and status that she knew soldiers could never afford.
How could a soldier like him afford such jewels?
And why had he ignored her? Why hadn’t he, even once, let his gaze linger on her?
Mahin had seen men from all walks of life, and none had been so focused, so determined to avoid her presence.
She was used to being admired—respected, even feared. Men often looked at her with a blend of awe and desire.
But this warrior… there was something different about him.
Her thoughts tangled, each question sparking another. Was he afraid of her father?
Perhaps he was more intelligent than the average soldier, aware of the consequences of even a glance at her.
But then again, they had been alone and no soul would know…just not one glance?
She had heard the whispers, of course—how men were afraid of her father Sayid’s wrath, how the mere thought of harboring inappropriate desires for his daughter could lead to an untimely death.
Her frustration grew. She clenched her fists, her knuckles white with the tension.
Why didn’t he care tho? The thought haunted her, driving her to distraction.
This warrior, this man with wealth, with rings of gold and hands too smooth to be a soldier’s, had ignored her.
And that, more than anything, intrigued her.
He was a mystery she needed to solve.
Her pulse quickened as her mind raced with questions. Who was he? Why had he been there so quick?
And why, despite everything, hadn’t he spared her a single glance?
As she lay there in the dark, frustration gnawing at her, Mahin knew that this was only the beginning.
The pulsating city of Persepolis never truly rested—good sleep was a luxury for the wealthy.
Yet Mahin, despite her privilege, found no solace in slumber tonight.
This game of chase would not end so easily.
Post a Comment