The sun beat down mercilessly upon the plains of Melnock. Heat shimmered across scorched earth, the land cracked and broken like an old wound that never healed. Even after twenty-eight years, the plains had never recovered from the Battle of Melnock. Nothing grew here, not grass, not trees, not even the hardiest weeds. No animals roamed this place. It was a dead stretch of land, forever marked by blood and fire.

  Zara walked alone across the plains, her boots crunching against dry soil and ash. The wind carried dust into the air, stinging her eyes and coating her tongue with bitterness. Her thoughts were louder than the wind, images she could not escape, visions that refused to leave her mind.

  What did it mean? Can I change it?

  “What was that?” she muttered to herself, her voice thin against the open land. “I can’t kill Samantha. She’s one of us.” Her steps slowed. “Maybe I’m better off leaving the Chosen behind. They don’t need me. I have no abilities. I’m not special. I’ll only hold them back.”

  The outer city of Melnock came into view, the same place where she had once been taken, where her life had begun to unravel into something unrecognisable. Towering chimneys spewed thick plumes of smoke into the sky, and the palace loomed above everything, cruel and imposing. Somewhere inside those walls was her father.

  If only she could see Scythe again.

  She lowered herself onto a large boulder, letting the heat soak into her bones. She didn’t know what to do next. All she wanted was for it to end, for the noise, the pressure, the expectations to disappear. The wind howled across the plains, whipping dust into the air until it burned her lungs. She coughed, forcing herself to stand.

  Anything would be better than feeling useless.

  As she approached the city gates, two Shoven guards stood watch, their armour battered and rusted, dust clinging to every joint. They loomed over her as she stepped closer.

  “Oi, girl,” one of them grunted. “What’s your purpose here?”

  “My purpose is my own,” Zara replied softly. “I’d like to gain access.”

  The other guard’s gaze lingered on her gear. “That’s some nice armour you’ve got there. Where’d you get it?”

  Zara pulled her cloak tighter around herself, hiding the armour beneath it.“I found it. Now will you let me in?”

  The guards exchanged glances, muttering to one another in low voices. Zara edged closer, trying to hear, but a sudden movement made her flinch.

  “Step back,” one guard warned, his hand dropping to his sword.

  “Okay, okay,” she said quickly, retreating. She steps back and tries not to make eye contact with the Shoven, knowing that some of them may still recognise her from the palace.

  After a tense moment, one of them grunted. “Lucky day. We’ll let you in.”

  The gates creaked open, revealing the vast streets of Melnock beyond. Zara exhaled slowly and slipped through, clutching her cloak as the doors closed behind her.

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  The streets were painfully familiar. She kept her head down, weaving through crowds, avoiding faces—Shaheren and Shoven alike. She longed to return to the palace, to see her father again, but she knew she couldn’t risk it.

  Her steps slowed when she spotted the ember bar she used to love.

  What harm could one drink do?

  Inside, the warmth wrapped around her instantly. Copper pipes gleamed against polished wood, paintings lined the walls, and laughter filled the air. For the first time in days, she felt… home.

  “Gold glass, please,” she said when a young red-haired girl approached.

  Moments later, a thin crystal glass sat before her, emberbrew glowing beneath a swirl of honeyed cream. Zara took a careful sip, warmth spreading through her chest—the familiar emberglow easing the tight knot inside her.

  For a brief moment, she felt human again.

  She finished the drink, left a few aurins on the table, and slipped back into the streets. The peace didn’t last long.

  Shouting echoed from above.

  Shoven grunts. Panic.

  People fled down the stairs, slamming into her. Zara was shoved against the wall as fear rippled through the crowd. She drew her bow instinctively, nocking an arrow as she climbed.

  At the top, a woman clutched an injured child. Down the curved street, Shoven marched through, shoving civilians aside.

  Zara didn’t think.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The Shoven turned, laughing.

  “You want a fight, little girl?”

  “You’re skathin right I do.”

  The arrow flew, striking one in the leg. Chaos erupted.

  Vines burst from the ground at her command, green light flaring as they wrapped around the Shoven, binding them tight. Steel clanged uselessly against living wood.

  Zara approached the leader calmly, removed his helmet, and met his eyes.

  “Consider this a warning.”

  Another arrow—another scream.

  She walked away before the magic faded, heart pounding.

  Maybe she did belong with the Chosen.

  “Zara!”

  She turned.

  “Chef!” She ran to him, hugging him tightly.

  Concern shadowed his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she admitted.

  He smiled, forced. “You need somewhere safe.”

  Relief flooded her.

  At his home, warmth and the smell of stew greeted her. She ate greedily, until she noticed him trembling.

  Tears fell.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  Armour shuffled outside.

  “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “They promised freedom.”

  The knock came.

  Shoven filled the doorway.

  Zara raised her hands, magic flaring—until cuffs snapped shut, silencing it.

  As they dragged her away, she looked back at Chef.

  “I hope your freedom is worth it.”

  The palace gates swallowed her whole, sealing her once more inside the heart of Melnock, where storms gathered, and fate waited.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner