Page 17 of The Moon's Daughter

“Remember, your mind is your greatest weapon. Use the element of surprise. Never let your enemy see you,” the instructor often reminded Zarian, stressing the importance of cunning and intelligence.

Zarian also underwent spiritual training, meditating under the sun’s morning light, learning to quiet his mind and connect with the deeper currents of the world.

His instructor often spoke of the weight of their duty, “As Medjai, we are the unseen guardians. Our sacrifice is silent, our battles unknown, but our resolve must be unwavering.”

As the training intensified, his body, mind, and spirit melded into a singular force, a weapon tempered by will and discipline. He learned to endure pain without flinching, to face fear without faltering.

“You must be prepared to do whatever it takes,” his instructor warned, his voice as hard as the desert rock. “Guarding the balance is our ultimate duty.”

Those words were etched into his mind, a constant reminder of the path he was destined to follow.

Zarian’s mind journeyed back through time, the memories of his rigorous training vivid and unyielding. The years blurred together, a tangle of discipline and commitment and loneliness.

Then a few months ago, everything converged in a pivotal moment.

Zarian listened intently to the Medjai elders as they spoke of the signs that had already come to pass and the one still to come. “The birth of a girl under the moon’s blessed light, the rare celestial alignment on the eve of the equinox, and now the impending eclipse,” Zanjeel, the head elder recounted, his weathered, stern face grave.

“Each sign has unfolded as prophesized,” another elder added. “The Daughter of the Moon is among us. The time has come for us to return to Alzahra.”

His father, King Tahriq, turned his attention to Zanjeel. “And what of the earthly moon?”

“It is hidden, safely ensconced far beyond the reach of those who would seek to misuse its power,” Zanjeel assured. “By the moon, it will remain undisturbed until the end of days.” The head elder continued, “Prince Zarian, you must––”

“Protect the princess,” King Tahriq interjected quickly, earning a sharp glance from Zanjeel. “I will send an envoy to inform King Khahleel of your arrival.” Tahriq placed a hand on Zarian’s shoulder. “Ensure the prophecy is fulfilled, my son. And if her powers threaten the balance…then neutralize her.

“I will not fail, Father,” Zarian vowed, bowing his head, his fingers twitching slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Zarian saw a shadow flicker near the window, but when he turned his head, it was gone. It was merely an errant play of light, the fire’s dancing flames casting shapes into the chamber’s corners.

King Tahriq placed a firm hand on Zarian’s shoulder. “Remember, as Medjai, we value the balance above all. Protect the princess and earn the trust of her father. Ensure the prophecy comes to pass. Guard the balance from anything and anyone that may threaten to destroy it.”

Zarian glanced at the head elder, who stood tense with his lips set grimly, before turning back to his father and accepting his mission.

Now, under the vast sky, he reflected on his journey. From the intense training of his youth to this moment of destiny, his path had been clear.

But now, as he watched the stars, Zarian felt conflicted about what pathhewanted to walk.

Sighing, he shook off these thoughts and reminded himself of his duty. He needed to focus on the path laid out for him by fate.

What he wanted was irrelevant.

CHAPTER SIX

In the lush gardens of the palace, the air was fragrant with blooming gardenia. The distant sound of water from the fabled springs melded with the soft laughter and chatter of a royal visit. Such visits, though rare due to the secret nature of their order, occasionally became essential.

This particular visit aimed to forge a trade agreement with a coastal kingdom, securing valuable resources—chief among them, pearls and spices.

The setting sun cast its golden warmth over the gardens, highlighting the anticipation of an impending game. The elder brother stood with a commanding grace, his loyal dog by his side, tail wagging. His younger sibling, though equally handsome, perhaps even more so, stood next to him with hunched shoulders, his eyes darting nervously between their guests and the ground.

As they gathered to explain the rules of the traditional game—a test of teamwork and strategy—the excitement among the princesses from Maridunia was palpable.

“It’s all about precise teamwork and learning your partner’s skills,” the elder brother explained, his voice carrying across the garden and catching the attention of the two visiting princesses. He gestured toward the playing field, where pairs of hoops were set into the grass at varying distances, with a rack of mallets standing nearby. “Each team’s player must hit the ball through a hoop. But to advance, their partner must jump the same distance. Choose your hoops wisely—the first team to reach the far side wins.”

“I wish to be on your team,” declared the younger princess boldly, her eyes sparkling as she stepped closer to him.

The elder princess elbowed her sister before quickly adding, “As the eldest, I would be better matched with you. It would be an honor to learn from the future king.”

An awkward silence descended over the group. The younger brother, feeling the familiar sting of being overshadowed, offered a tight smile, his discomfort thinly veiled.

The elder cast a quick glance his way. “The game’s spirit is in its partnership,” he interjected smoothly, “and as much as I appreciate your requests, it’s only fair that we draw lots to decide the teams.”

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