Fading Hopes

**Shaira's POV**

As we trudged over the rocky terrain, the silhouette of Zuwua began to appear on the horizon, nestled among the trees. My strength was nearly gone. Every step was agony, and my body seemed on the verge of collapse. However, the physical wounds weren’t what hurt the most; it was the certainty that I was drawing closer to the fate Omawit had prepared for me.

Omawit, walking ahead with his head held high, didn’t miss the chance to hurl another series of threats. He stopped for a moment and turned to face me, his face illuminated by a cruel smile. “Do you see it?” he gestured toward the distant huts of Zuwua. “That’s where you’ll be judged. That’s where you’ll be displayed before everyone as the trophy you are.”

I forced myself not to look away, even as my knees trembled with weakness. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Not this time.

“The people of Zuwua are not merciful to traitors,” he continued, his voice heavy with mockery. “You’ll face a public trial. You’ll be forced to your knees before them, and you’ll see the hatred in their eyes as they hear of your crimes. And when the trial ends, I will show you to everyone for what you truly are: my slave.”

His words were like poison, meant to break my spirit. But I clung to the last spark of hope inside me, to the image of Angro that I kept alive in my mind. As desperate as my situation was, I wouldn’t give up. Angro was out there somewhere. I knew that if there was a way to reach me, he would find it.

Omawit leaned in close, his dark eyes full of contempt. “You should be grateful, eteri. I’m giving you a better fate than you deserve. I could have killed you in the jungle and left your body for the scavengers. But I chose to bring you to Zuwua, where you’ll at least be useful…for my entertainment.”

His hand rose to grasp my chin tightly, forcing me to look at him. I felt the skin burn under the pressure of his fingers, but I refused to show pain. “I’ll enjoy watching you struggle against the inevitable,” he said, his voice a chilling whisper. “It will be a spectacle beyond your imagination.”

Despite my wounds and exhaustion, I managed to muster the strength to speak. “If you think you’ve beaten me, you’re wrong,” I said, my voice rough but steady. “I’m not your trophy, and I’ll never be your slave.”

Omawit let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh, we’ll see about that, eteri. We’ll see.” Then he released me with a rough shove, causing me to stumble.

As we resumed our march, the fear inside me continued to grow, but so did my determination. I knew that Angro would be searching for me, that he wouldn’t abandon me to my fate. I had to keep resisting, for him and for myself. I couldn’t let Omawit break me. Every step toward Zuwua wasn’t just a step closer to judgment; it was also a step toward the possibility that Angro might appear, against all odds, to save us from the darkness.

My body was exhausted and aching, but my spirit refused to yield. I told myself I had to stay strong, even if my inner voice trembled. At some point, an opportunity would arise, and when it did, I needed to be ready to seize it.

My feet barely responded, the pain in each step growing sharper as they pushed me toward the center of Zuwua. The warriors surrounded me like a hunted animal, keeping a tight circle around me to prevent any escape. The rope binding my hands cut off my circulation, leaving my wrists numb. Despite the mud covering my body and the fatigue weighing me down, I kept my head held high. I wouldn’t give Omawit the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

He led the march, pausing occasionally to shoot me looks full of hatred or shove me roughly whenever I stumbled. “Keep moving, eteri,” he growled once more, in that tone that made me feel less than human. His hand gripped my arm tightly, almost dragging me forward.

The murmur of people began to grow around us. Through the village streets, people started to emerge from their houses, gathering and following us with curiosity. I hadn’t forgotten the faces of many of them; they were the same who had looked at me with distrust and suspicion months ago. But now their expressions showed something more: surprise, disbelief, even compassion.

“Is that her?” I heard a woman ask in a low voice, her tone a mix of astonishment and pity. “The same outsider?”

“Why are they treating her like this?” a man exclaimed further ahead, frowning. “What did she do to deserve this?”

I felt a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, the shame of being paraded like this, with my body bruised and covered in mud; on the other, the spark of hope that perhaps not everyone in Zuwua saw me as an enemy. But that small spark almost faded when Omawit stopped, turning on his heels to face the crowd with that contemptuous smile that infuriated me so much.

“Listen to me, all of you!” he shouted, raising his voice so that his words resonated throughout the place. “This woman has betrayed our trust and endangered our safety. Today, justice will be served.”

The voices of the crowd rose in response. They were no longer just murmurs; some people began to shout in my defense. “Let her speak! Let her explain what happened!” a man in the front yelled, glaring at Omawit defiantly.

“You have no right to treat her like this!” a woman near me exclaimed. “If there is an accusation to be made, she should be judged fairly.”

For a moment, I felt Omawit’s control over the situation waver. The people weren’t completely on his side. There were doubts, there were voices willing to question him. I clung to that feeling, sensing how a faint ray of hope filtered into my chest. However, it lasted only an instant.

Omawit raised a hand with an authoritative gesture, demanding silence. “This woman is an eteri, an enemy warrior,” he declared, his gaze sweeping over the crowd as if daring them to challenge him. “And those who defend her are supporting her betrayal. Have you forgotten that she came here lying and mocking our hospitality?”

His words pierced my chest like daggers, not because of their harshness, but because I saw that some of the villagers began to waver. The fear of being seen as traitors alongside me weighed in their eyes, and I felt the hope that had filled me a moment ago start to crumble.

Still, I kept moving, forced to put one foot in front of the other as the murmurs in the crowd grew louder. I looked at the faces swirling around us, searching for any hint of support or understanding. But then, an abrupt silence fell over us all, and the crowd parted to make way for an imposing figure.

Owan, the village chief, appeared, walking steadily toward us. Beside him, I saw the figure of Amari, his daughter. Her gaze swept over me with evident disdain, and in that instant, I knew no compassion would come from her. On the contrary, she seemed to take pleasure in seeing me in this situation.

Owan raised a hand to calm the people. “People of Zuwua,” he said in a deep and steady voice, “we cannot take justice into our own hands. If Omawit, my son, brings new accusations against this woman, then it will be through a fair trial that her fate will be decided. And no one has the right to interfere.”

Omawit shot me a look full of satisfaction and then exchanged a knowing glance with Amari. There was no doubt that they already had a plan. And I, exhausted and humiliated, could barely imagine what would come next.