The Shattered Crowns

Akash's voice cut through the oppressive silence like a blade. "Seems a bit extreme to kill someone for asking about his family."

All heads turned toward him, the villagers gasping audibly. Some stepped back as though distancing themselves from the boy who had just dared to defy the Inquisitor. Elys growled low at Akash's side, his massive frame bristling with tension. The tiger's sharp amber eyes darted toward the nearest guards, who stiffened, their hands gripping the hilts of their weapons.

Jiras straightened, his khopesh hovering mid-air. His narrowed eyes locked onto Akash, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Who broke formation?" he growled, his voice thick with an accent as harsh as the desert wind.

The soldiers, looking momentarily unsure, glanced between one another, but none answered. Akash stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his resin-infused blade. He made no attempt to hide the challenge in his posture.

"Let the man go," Akash said, his tone calm but cutting. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

Jiras tilted his head, clearly baffled by the audacity of the boy before him. Then, his sneer deepened into something more predatory. "And what would a scrawny outlander know of wrongs in Reem? You've broken the Inquisitor's decree by interfering."

Akash shrugged, his grip tightening on his blade. "I don't care about your decrees. I care about the man you're about to murder in front of his people. Seems to me you're the one in the wrong."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. The villagers exchanged wide-eyed glances, their fear momentarily eclipsed by astonishment. No one ever defied the Inquisitor—or his guards. But here was this outsider, standing against Jiras as if he were an equal.

The Inquisitor, who had not yet turned to face Akash, raised a single hand to silence the crowd's growing whispers. Slowly, he turned, his piercing eyes settling on the masked boy. His expression was one of mild curiosity, as though he were watching an insect foolishly throw itself against a flame.

"And who are you," the Inquisitor asked, his voice dangerously smooth, "to challenge the divine authority of the God King's voice?"

Akash met his gaze evenly. "I'm someone who doesn't kneel for tyrants."

The crowd gasped again. Elys let out a rumbling snarl, his fangs bared. The guards tightened their grip on their weapons, shifting uneasily. Even Jiras's sneer faltered for a split second before it was replaced by an expression of grim resolve.

"You're either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, boy," the Inquisitor said, his tone devoid of warmth. "But it doesn't matter. You've made your choice."

Jiras stepped forward, his khopesh gleaming in the sunlight. "If the outlander wants to die for a worthless farmer, so be it." He gestured toward the guards. "Secure the tiger. I'll deal with the boy myself."

The soldiers moved to surround Elys, but the tiger was ready. With a deafening roar, he lunged at the nearest man, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The others hesitated, clearly unsure of how to handle a beast of his size and ferocity.

Akash drew his blade in a single, fluid motion, the weapon's crimson hue catching the light as it left its sheath. His pulse quickened, but his grip was steady. "Elys," he called, his voice firm. "I can handle this. Keep them busy."

Elys growled in understanding, pivoting to face the advancing guards. His long, crimson coat rippled as he circled them, a predator sizing up his prey.

Jiras scoffed, his khopesh slicing through the air as he tested its weight. "An outlander with a pretty sword," he said mockingly. "Do you even know how to use it, boy?"

Akash grinned, though the effort sent a dull ache through his bruised ribs. "Guess you'll find out."

Jiras's expression hardened. He raised his blade and charged, moving with the grace of a man who had spent decades perfecting the art of death. The crowd scattered, giving the two fighters a wide berth. Akash held his ground, watching Jiras's movements closely.

The khopesh came down in a deadly arc, but Akash sidestepped just in time, his blade flashing upward to meet it. The two weapons collided with a deafening clang, sparks flying. The force of the impact sent a jolt up Akash's arm, but he held firm, using the momentum to pivot and strike at Jiras's side.

The captain twisted away, but not quickly enough. Akash's blade grazed his hip, drawing first blood. A thin line of crimson stained the sand.

Jiras snarled, his composure cracking. "You'll regret that," he hissed.

Akash didn't respond. His focus narrowed to the man before him, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. He shifted his stance, his blade held low and ready.

Jiras came at him again, this time with a series of rapid strikes. The khopesh moved like an extension of his arm, each swing precise and deadly. Akash parried the first two blows, his arms straining against the captain's superior strength. But the third strike slipped through his guard, slamming into his chest with the flat of the blade.

The impact sent Akash stumbling back, the wind knocked from his lungs. He barely managed to recover in time to dodge the next attack, rolling to the side as Jiras's blade bit into the ground where he had just been.

"Still standing?" Jiras taunted, his breath coming faster now. "You've got guts, boy. I'll give you that."

Akash pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating through his chest. His mask hissed softly, the mechanism straining to keep up with his labored breathing. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his grin returning. "Tired yet?"

Jiras's expression darkened. He shifted his stance, adopting a more defensive posture. He was no longer underestimating Akash.

The two circled each other, their weapons raised. The crowd watched in stunned silence, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

The next clash came fast and brutal. Jiras feinted left, his blade arcing toward Akash's exposed shoulder. Akash saw the shift in his weight just in time and pivoted, parrying the strike with a resounding clang. He stepped inside Jiras's guard, driving his elbow into the captain's ribs. Jiras grunted, staggering back a step, but he recovered quickly, lashing out with the hilt of his khopesh.

The blow caught Akash across the jaw, sending him reeling. His vision swam, black spots clouding the edges. He shook his head, forcing the dizziness away, and raised his blade just as Jiras advanced again.

They traded strikes, the clash of metal ringing out like a battle hymn. Akash's movements grew sharper with each exchange, his instincts taking over where his training faltered. But Jiras's experience was undeniable. The captain's strikes were precise and unrelenting, each one calculated to find a weakness in Akash's defense.

A sharp slash opened a line of fire across Akash's upper arm, blood soaking through his sleeve. He bit back a cry, his grip tightening on his blade. Jiras smirked, sensing victory.

"You've fought well," Jiras said, his voice low. "But it ends here."

He lunged, his blade aimed for Akash's heart. Akash twisted at the last moment, raising his sword to intercept the strike. The resin-infused blade cut through the khopesh with a screech, the jagged metal falling to the ground.

Jiras's eyes widened in shock, but Akash didn't give him time to recover. He stepped forward, driving the hilt of his blade into Jiras's face. There was a sickening crunch as the captain's nose broke, blood spurting down his chin.

Jiras stumbled back, his broken weapon hanging uselessly in his hand. Akash held his ground, breathing hard, his blade steady despite the trembling in his limbs.

"You're done," Akash said, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

Jiras fell back, clutching his shattered nose, blood pouring down his face in streaks of red. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his confidence utterly shaken. The broken remnants of his khopesh fell from his hand, clattering uselessly against the ground. He stumbled, his footing uneven, but his eyes burned with rage.

Akash stood firm, his blade pointed at Jiras. His legs trembled, his chest heaving with every labored breath, but he didn't lower his guard. The hiss of his mask filled the silence, the only sound besides the distant crash of the river and the murmurs of the stunned crowd. His voice rasped through the mask as he spoke, low and cutting.

"It's not over," Akash said, his lips curling into a grin. "Not until I stop breathing."

Jiras snarled, his pride outweighing his pain. "You little—"

Before he could finish, a guttural roar tore through the square. Elys exploded into motion, barreling into the remaining guards like a crimson thunderstorm. One man went flying into a stall, splintering the wooden frame, while another was pinned beneath the tiger's massive paws. Elys let out a warning growl, his fangs bared and glistening with saliva.

The guards scrambled, panic spreading like wildfire. They fumbled for their weapons, but Elys moved faster, swiping at their legs and sending them toppling one by one. The villagers gasped, shrinking back from the chaos as dust and sand filled the air.

Jiras's gaze flicked to the carnage, then back to Akash. His lips moved as if forming an excuse, but he didn't get the chance. Akash stepped forward and slammed his boot into Jiras's chest, sending the captain sprawling to the ground. His resin-infused blade hovered inches from Jiras's throat.

"It's over," Akash growled. "Stand down."

For a moment, it seemed Jiras might try something reckless, but the sharp gleam of Akash's blade and the weight of his broken pride pinned him in place. He slumped back, his hands twitching but otherwise motionless.

Elys returned to Akash's side, his fur bristling as he growled down at the guards, daring them to rise. None did.

Akash's breath came in shallow bursts as he lowered his blade slightly, the adrenaline beginning to ebb. His vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges, and he swayed on his feet. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay upright, but he wouldn't fall—not yet.

"Enough."

The single word sliced through the tension like a knife.