In the fading light of dusk, the once-vibrant city of Tinghir stood like a shadow of its former glory. Once a symbol of progress and hope, the city council now lay crumbled and broken, its shattered glass windows reflecting the bleakness that had descended upon the planet. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and devastation, a grim testament to the ruthless power of the empire that had seized control.

  Gaith stood at the center of what used to be the Grand Plaza. His eyes surveyed the ruins that surrounded him. Tinghir’s inhabitants huddled in fear, their homes reduced to smoldering ruins.

  Gaith pursed his lips in disgust, the emperor’s demand leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He fought down the bile that burned at his throat. He had wanted to spare the populace such fate and had asked them to surrender the rebels they had harbored in clear breach of the peace treaty.

  If only they had listened to him.

  He looked down at the man kneeling at his feet. The rebel gasped as shadows slowly slithered down his throat, choking him.

  “Tell me where it is,” Gaith said. “And I’ll ease your pain.”

  The rebel glared up at him in defiance. His hands straining against the darkness’s hold to no avail. There was no way he could break free.

  No one could.

  The man spat at him, saliva landing on his boots.

  Gaith could command the man’s bravery at death’s face—No matter how foolish and pointless. He twisted his fingers, and the rebel let out a soundless scream, writhing on the ground as if his insides were twisting over. They could as well be.

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  “I won’t repeat my question,” Gaith said.

  A soldier approached him, his steps hesitant and fearful. Gaith could taste his fear in the acrid, smoke-filled air.

  “My lord, we have located one of the other rebels,” The soldier said, his eyes fretfully glancing at the fallen rebel.

  Gaith nodded. He released the man, who slumped on the floor, retching.

  “Take him to the ship. We can still get some useful information out of him.” And trudged on to give orders to depart. The sooner this was over with, the better.

  The soldier hurried towards the rebel and lifted him to his feet. The latter twisted in his arms and took hold of the soldier’s blaster. Gaith paused, calling his shadows around him for protection. But to Gaith’s surprise, the man didn’t aim the blaster toward him or the soldier. He aimed it at his own head. He stared at Gaith with eyes full of hate and anger.

  “See you in hell, bastard,” he hissed before pulling the trigger.

  Shadows encircled him, shielding him from the blood and gore as the rebel’s lifeless body fell to the ground, his blood mingling with the dust, seeping into the scorched earth. The soldier fumbled on his feet, shock written on his face. Ah, a recruit, Gaith thought. But like the others, it wouldn’t be long before he would be desensitized to such displays.

  A few feet from the slumped corpse, a small bed of flowers swayed gently as imperial ships flew above. A quickly collecting puddle of gore threatened to engulf the delicate petals in sticky red.

  He glanced at the half-destroyed flower bed.

  She would have loved this place.

  He picked up a flower, its vibrant purple contrasting against his black gloves. Amal would love to add it to her flower collection, a habit she acquired after they relocated to the Capital.

  “My lord, command awaits your orders.”

  Gaith nodded. “Prepare to depart,” he said.

  He tucked the small flower in his pocket, safely wrapped in shadows, and turned his back to the destruction.