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The giant roared and noise erupted in every direction from the shouting armies. The warmth settled on her shoulders, gently rippling the hair by her cheeks, cooling her hot flesh and steadying her pounding heart.

The giant’s sword came down. Ryn dove forward, sliding beneath his legs and slashing at the back of its knees. She didn’t even know how she’d done it—it happened so fast, her mind couldn’t keep up with her body. The giant wailed and spun with his sword raised. He plunged it and Ryn rolled, the blade piercing sand. She grabbed the handle as the giant tore his sword back up, and she sailed through the air as he raised it high over his head, her stomach dropping as all the soldiers shrank below, becoming like grasshoppers in her sight. She let go of his weapon, her own sword coming out in a glimmer of silver as she landed on the giant’s shoulder. The shadows flailed around her feet, driving up and blocking her vision. She grabbed a fistful of the giant’s hair for balance as she wobbled, forcing the giant to stumble sideways toward the cliffside.

Ryn released his hair and held her blade high over his head with both hands, eyeing his neck where the shadows were congregating. She brought her blade down just as the giant tumbled over the cliff’s edge into a freefall with her on its back.

The story of Hadhayosh wasn’t the only tale Ryn had heard in her lifetime. There were many others. Some were good, like the ones her mother told her about family being reunited after the long journey of life. But there were bad ones, too—stories in books Ryn had collected about her favourite fairytales, where Jinn granted wishes that often tricked the wishers out of things: happiness, love, life. Jinn that supposedly cursed people to wander the underworld.

They were just stories.

Ryn had no way of knowing what was real about the afterlife. At least, not until a god spoke to her in a palace room and told her that her mother was with him, that she was alive and well and living in glory. That same God who was with her now.

The sound of Heva’s reverberating scream lit the corners of Ryn’s consciousness. Moisture pooled around Ryn’s eyes, and she blinked, clearing the mist and letting her vision sharpen on a hard, dry ravine far below her with cracks like spider webs.

Her hand was numb. No—both hands were numb.

Stinging filled her eyes as she dragged her watery gaze up to find her right hand clasping a stone ledge. There was another ledge slightly above. She could hear shouts coming from somewhere over it.

The rest of her body dangled, heavy. She looked down at her gold armour, seeing the reflection of her mask in her breastplate. Her left hand was gripping something tightly.

A handful of black hair. A head was attached. But no body.

“By the Divinities,” she cursed, her voice thick with the threat of retching. She’d taken its head—the giant’s. She’d stabbed the shadows and… “Did I do this, or did you do this?” Ryn asked, squeezing her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see it.

“The fear is broken. Well done, Adassah.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calculating her movements as her arms began trembling. She was going to lose her grip soon and plummet into the core of the ravine where the creature’s body had landed. Ryn gritted her teeth as she lifted her arm holding tight to the giant’s hair and found purchase on the ledge with her elbow. The giant’s head weighed as much as she did, threatening to pull her back down. She swung her knee over and shrieked through panting, giving the climb her last ounce of strength as she pulled herself up and reached for the final ledge.

She swung the head over first, and all the shouting above went quiet. With her hands finally free, she jumped and caught the ridge, pulling herself over with shaking arms. Dizziness spilled in, the threat of fainting hovering as she crawled on her elbows, inhaling, exhaling as she inched forward, her legs dragging behind, her braid a mess beside her face.

Everything was too quiet.

When she raised her head to see what had become of everyone, she saw two armies staring back at her. Those in deep red kilts and bronze armour looked her way in horror, peeling their eyes off the head that had rolled into the middle of both groups.

Suddenly, Per-Siana began to roar, “Per-Siana!” and “Gold Maiden!” As the sweat trapped behind Ryn’s armour turned sticky, all she could think of was finding a large drink of water. Amidst the shouts, she heard Yusuf and Faro bellowing, “Commander Adassah!”

She sat up on her heels as Heva swept in, kicking sand. “Ryn!” she cried. Heva’s arms came around her shoulders, and for all Heva’s tough talk, she wept now, her tears washing streams down her dirty face and causing strands of her hair to stick to her jaw.

Four blue Per-Siana commanders rimmed in gold appeared before Ryn. The one in the front had white patches through his hair and a gaze that could pierce through stone.

“What gave you the right to challenge the giant—”

Bastone was there, using his bow to push the sharp-eyed commander back. “She’s a commander too. Show some respect!” he snapped. He wasn’t wearing armour anymore—his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and two daggers were clipped to his belt. Almost like he’d been planning to scale down the ravine after her.

“Easy, Soldier.” One of the other commanders stepped in, raising a hand between Bastone and the white-haired commander with sharp eyes. Bastone dropped his bow to his side, blinking as a startled look crossed his face. He took a respectful step back, then kept his gaze on the ground after that.

The new Per-Siana commander turned to Ryn. He pulled off his helmet, revealing maize hair and a partially mutilated left ear. “I’m Commander Hall from the twenty-eighth province. You had every right to challenge the giant, Commander Adassah. Division Twenty-Eight thanks you.” His finger brushed along the pale burns on his ear as if he sensed people staring at it. Then he asked, “Which province is your division from?”

Bastone opened his mouth to answer when Ryn didn’t, but Ryn’s hand flashed to his shin, halting his words. He glanced down at where she gripped a handful of his trousers, rattling one of the daggers at his belt.

“We’re Burn Division Twelve from the Seventy-Fifth Province,” Ryn answered in a dry, strained voice. She swallowed, wetting her tongue.

Accusation flickered across Bastone’s face, his thinning lips pulling at his crescent scar, but he didn’t object or correct her in front of Commander Hall.

Commander Hall sank to a knee, brushing his maize hair off his face and eyeing Ryn through the slits of her facemask. “You’ve saved us, Maiden. Now please, go address the B’rei Mira commanders on our behalf and inform them of their loss and requirements for surrender.”

“We’re already here.”

Per-Siana soldiers parted to make way for three men in red with large brass pectorals. Burgundy feathers stuck out of their metal arm bands, and rubies glistened on their sandals. One had a long beard in a neat braid, but the other two were clean shaven: faces and heads. Dark makeup circled their eyes where they stared at Ryn like they were seeing a ghost. The bearded one dropped to a knee, bowing low before her.