Night swallowed Al-Zahra whole.
Torches flickered along the palace corridors as the Queen's brother stepped into the open courtyard, laughter still clinging to his breath. Guards trailed him—alert, but relaxed. Too relaxed.
From the rooftops above, a presence watched.
A shadow detached itself from stone and silence.
The first guard fell without a sound. The second turned—too late.
Steel flashed toward the heart of the man who had haunted a lifetime.
Then,
Clang.
The strike was stopped mid-air.
Nightmare twisted back instinctively as a figure landed between him and his target, blade raised, stance perfect.
A woman.
Clad in black from head to toe, face hidden behind a mask, movements sharp and disciplined. She did not hesitate. She did not speak at first.
The Queen's brother stumbled back. "What"
"Inside," the woman said calmly. "Now."
Guards surged forward, shielding him as the woman advanced instead—toward Nightmare.
"You protect him," Nightmare said, circling.
"I protect what must not fall," she replied.
They clashed.
Blade met blade in a flurry of controlled violence—no wasted strikes, no reckless moves. She matched him step for step, anticipating angles, countering with terrifying precision.
She fights like me, Nightmare realized.
A kick forced him back. He recovered instantly, slashing low—she vaulted, cloak twisting in the air like smoke.
Alarms began to ring.
Nightmare disengaged, leaping to a higher ledge. The woman followed, landing lightly across from him, eyes locked through the darkness.
"You shouldn't exist," he said.
"Neither should you," she answered.
For a moment, they simply stared.
Then guards flooded the rooftops.
Nightmare vanished into the night.
Long after silence returned, the woman stood alone on a balcony overlooking the palace gardens. She removed her gloves slowly, hands steady.
Moonlight brushed her face as she reached up and untied the mask.
Ivory silk slipped free.
Dark eyes reflected the stars.
The Queen of Al-Zahra stepped back into the light.
Her expression was unreadable—caught between resolve and something far more fragile.
Far away, Aydin washed blood from his hands, unaware that the woman who had stopped him.
The woman he desired.
Wore the crown he was sworn to shatter.
And in the quiet after the clash, the truth settled like a curse:
The greatest enemy of his vengeance
was the woman he loved.