​Chapter One: Echoes of the Golden Walls

Part I: Ash and Silence

​The cold, damp evening air of Meroë bit at Adissa’s face like a wet leather lash, but she didn’t flinch. For weeks, her mind had built a wall of shock around her heart, shielding her from heat and cold alike. She stood atop a ridge of hard, red sand—sand the color of blood that had not yet been spilled. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the black smoke of her best friend’s funeral had swallowed the sky only hours before.

​This was no ordinary goodbye. It was the silent, humiliating end of the last bridge to the life Adissa once knew—before the golden walls of the palace became her prison.

​Buried beneath that red earth was Tyra: her childhood companion, her partner in solitude, the girl who had escaped with her for hours to their secret engraving workshop. It wasn’t a natural death. It was a "horrible accident," staged with a brilliance that made Adissa’s stomach churn. A heavy construction stone had "suddenly" fallen from a wall under repair in a remote corner of the palace, crushing everything in its path. When the soldiers found Tyra, her small hand was still clutching a piece of charcoal. That charcoal—the symbol of Adissa’s old world and forgotten passion—had crumbled into black ash, staining Adissa’s fingers when she picked it up. To Adissa, this wasn't just the loss of a friend; it was a warning. Evil was no longer lurking on distant battlefields; it had crept into the palace courtyard.

​"The will of the Gods, my child... the cruel will of the Gods."

​The voice of Nastasen, her father’s loyal advisor, echoed in her ears. He had been the first to comfort her, while Maweya—the head of the council—had left the mourning area with icy discipline. Nastasen’s grief seemed deep and sincere. A powerful man in his forties with a soldier’s build, he carried the stigma of "tainted blood" as the son of a Roman slave. He had always been Adissa’s emotional refuge, his fatherly kindness perhaps born from their shared sense of being outsiders.

​But Adissa no longer believed in the "will of the Gods." Suspicions had been eating at her heart since her father’s mysterious death. She felt Nastasen watching her now with his clear blue eyes. Did they hold true sympathy, or was he simply playing the role of the "Good Guardian" to perfection?

Part II: Maweya’s Shadow

​Adissa shifted her gaze to another part of the hill. A sharp, unmoving shadow stood there: Maweya.

​Maweya was the governess, the stern leader of the Regency Council who hated Adissa’s tears as much as she hated weakness. She stood like a statue carved from flint, her black shawl wrapped tightly around her. She hadn't shed a single tear for the tragedy. Instead, she looked at Adissa with a coldness that felt like blame.

​"Princess, you must return to the palace," Maweya’s voice was low, like rusting metal. "It is not fitting for you to stand here alone. There is work to be done."

​"What work is left, Maweya?" Adissa asked quietly.

​"Your duty to the Prince. The throne must remain strong. You must show strength."

​Maweya’s eyes pierced through her like needles. They seemed to say: If you had followed the rules, Tyra would still be safe. It was the final blow. Adissa couldn't take any more. She turned and ran back toward the palace, seeking the only place she felt safe: her secret engraving room.

​Part III: Walls of Memory

​Adissa sprinted through the grand corridors. She no longer saw the beauty of the gold carvings—only cold walls surrounding a vacuum. She slipped into her room, where the smell of clay and charcoal offered the only comfort. She collapsed onto the cushions and buried her face in her arms.

​"Where did this begin?" she whispered.

​She needed a map to the past to find out where everything went wrong. She closed her eyes and let her memory pull her back.

​[Two Years Earlier – The Palace in its Glory]

​At fifteen, Adissa lived in a bubble of art and peace. As a junior princess, she knew the throne would go to her older sister. This was a gift; it meant she was free. While others studied protocol, she spent her time sketching the old stories of Nubia.

​"Adissa! By the Gods! Are you hiding again?"

​It was Tyra’s voice, whispering in a panic. "Maweya will have my head if you miss Sumerian literature again!"

​"Let her have it," Adissa replied, drawing a precise line around the Nile God on a clay tablet. "Sumerian poetry won't protect Meroë, but this engraving? This will last a thousand years."

​Those were the golden days. Her mother, the Queen Mother, had been the heart of the family. When she died of a sudden illness three years ago, the King—a gentle, wise man—was broken. He found solace in Nastasen, his closest confidant.

​But a year later, the second disaster struck. Her father chose "The Ultimate Sacrifice"—suicide by a swift Nubian poison.

​"He was noble in his grief, Adissa," Nastasen had told her back then. "He couldn't live in a world without the Queen."

​Part IV: The Final Departure

​The years passed, and Adissa's sister ruled with justice, leading armies to stop the Roman advance. Before leaving for a final, preemptive strike, the Queen met Adissa one last time.

​"Take care of Ari," the Queen whispered, hugging Adissa tightly. Ari was the infant prince, the heartbeat of Meroë.

​"I will protect him with my life, sister. But you will return victorious."

​The Queen looked worried. "Something feels wrong in the air, Adissa. Is everything truly under control here?"

​Adissa smiled, trying to be brave. "Don't worry. Nastasen is here. And Maweya."

​The Queen laughed softly, stroking Adissa’s curls. "Remember, engravings alone do not protect a country. You must have a sword and a message." Those were her last words before she rode away with her husband.

​Part V: The Panic

​Months later, Adissa stood at the palace gates, waiting for the victorious return. The air was thick with joy. The crowds were cheering. Nastasen stood by her side, beaming. "Peace is finally here, Princess!"

​Even Maweya was there, though her eyes scanned the crowd with suspicion.

​As the royal chariot entered the ceremonial path, a massive explosion shook the earth. It was a roar that tore through the sky, followed by a thick cloud of dust and the sharp, metallic smell of blood.

​The cheers turned into screams. The chariot—the one carrying the King and Queen—was gone, destroyed on a path that was supposed to be safe.

​It wasn't an accident. It was an assassination.

​Amidst the chaos, Adissa heard a piercing cry. It was baby Ari, screaming in the arms of his wetnurse, Tyra. Nastasen moved quickly, taking command. He stepped toward Adissa and placed a heavy, comforting hand on her shoulder.

​"The will of the Gods, my daughter... the cruel will of the Gods," he whispered, his blue eyes locked onto hers.

​Part VI: The Bitter Awakening

​[The Present]

​Adissa snapped her eyes open. The smell of charcoal in her room no longer felt like a hug—it felt like a tomb. She had lost her sister, her father, and now her only friend.

​The Gods? Adissa thought bitterly. The Gods do not strike four times with such perfect timing.

​There was a human hand behind this. A hand that rigged the explosion. A hand that dropped the stone on Tyra. Someone wanted the royal bloodline erased.

​Adissa stood up. The time for the dreaming princess was over. She picked up a piece of charcoal and looked at her stained hands. If engravings were to protect the land, they would have to be etched onto a blade.

​The legend of the Queen Mother spoke of three things:

Copper for endurance.

A Sword for her enemies.

A Shield for her people.

​Adissa Renas would become all three.

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