Return of the General's Daughter

"Her name was Mariam."

"She had once dreamed of becoming a teacher because she believed, with all her heart, that Northem could rise above its darkness through the light of education, that children deserved better, and that her homeland could be great if only its people were taught to see clearly."

"Now, that dream lay buried."

As the young woman stepped forward, rage and purpose burning in her eyes, the magistrate scrambled back in terror, his hands planted behind him, knees curled toward his chest in a futile attempt at defense.

"How could you be a judge when you are so evil?" The young woman was now looking down at the magistrate who was sitting down on the floor, a pitiful sight.

"I made a promise to Mariam," she continued, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "That I would avenge her. Maybe she’s watching now. Maybe she’s guiding my hands."

The sharp, sickening crack silenced the room.

The magistrate howled in agony.

"Guards!" he shrieked, voice shrill with desperation. "Get this madwoman away from me!"

But the guards stood frozen, their eyes flicking to Prince Alaric. He said nothing. His silence was a verdict. His gaze, cold and steady, was permission.

Then came the final blow. The leg of the chair struck the magistrate’s groin. A howl of pure, animalistic pain burst from his throat.