However, shock waves traverse my spine when I catch a glimpse of Meizza’s scowl in our direction.

“What?” He inquires as we readjust ourselves hastily to the stance of warriors, chins upright, chests up! “What could be so amusing during a critical drill on burying sentiments and brutality against our enemies?” His hoarse voice echoes within me.

I try to focus my gaze on anything but him, but his minty scent creeps into my nostrils as he saunters across, assessing us one after another, sniffing for the scapegoat. My feet quiver for a split second as I try to hold in my ‘wee-wee,’ and the next thing I know, he appears before me. My heart jumps into my mouth.

I pucker my arse and look up. Our faces align. His intense glare at me and his stature are quite intimidating. The rhythm of my breathing becomes uneven, and I blink repeatedly as a drop of sweat trickles down my brow.

The color of his gray eyes is lighter than the rest of us, synchronizing with his sclera and making his eyes appear almost white. His long hair and curly beard move in the direction of the wind. His face is partly veiled with cloth scarfed around his head. I try to remain as still as possible while he reaches for his side, but when a dagger slips into my palm, I gulp.

“Kill him,” he growls with gnashing teeth, pointing at the half-dead fellow.

The prince of Neems does not show mercy. The last thing I want to do is hesitate in executing his command. I force my body into motion, trudging towards the captive whose eyes peer at me faintly. In his state, death would surely be mercy.

My hands are trembling. How am I supposed to slay a man in cold blood? In my heart, I mutter a few words of prayer to the unknown gods for salvation from this situation. Then, as though they live, they respond swiftly.

As I am about to take another step, the sound of the hoofs of horses interferes with the moment. My gaze quickly drifts from the prisoner to the approaching Neem warriors clad in golden armor that glitter under the sun.

“The army is on fire!” One of them squeals from the distance, calling out to Meizza, our commander.

“Your Highness! Our army is on fire!”

The atmosphere seemingly transforms at the news. Even my pulse races at the sound.

Meizza glances at me for one last time before walking away, reaching for his thick black horse and mounting it. The stern glare he flashed at me says it all—I must kill the Babylonian. The consequences of not carrying out this command will be pretty straightforward.

“We ride,” he gives a signal to my fellow trainees to follow him as his stallion gallops away with clouds of dust trailing it.

I remain here, holding Meizza’s silver dagger like a puppet, the Babylonian’s brown eyes begging me for mercy. The sound of buzzing flies waiting to feast on his carcass is audible. Yet, I cannot get myself to slay him. I cannot leave either until I have carried out this order. This is Neem law.

After the kill is usually the hardest. The nightmares and hallucinations of helpless eyes staring at me in plain daylight, sensations of warm blood splashing against my skin...

“Hey, chicken!” An annoying poke jerks me back to reality.

My gaze sweeps the expanse until it lands on a huge frame. His fluffy brown hair matches the color of the freckles on his nose, and his pink lips are seemingly small when compared to his chubby cheeks. His white skin appears to have been burned by the harsh sun, and reddish patches around his eyes and forehead are prominent. My eyebrows furrow.

“You should stick to fulfilling prophecies alone and not jokes as well,” he snarls. If eyes were blades, he would have dropped dead by now, with the way I’m staring daggers at him.

“Go on then, kill him! Or do you want to cry for your mother as usual?” He giggles, his big stomach vibrating inside his stylish black robe.

He continues poking my chest, annoying me more and more. I try to suppress a longing to smack his fat ugly face and quell his laughter by squeezing shit into his mouth.

However, a splash of blood occurs! The Babylonian’s skull is split open by the edge of an ax tossed expertly by someone. I trace the direction of the throw, and lo, my guardian angel approaches. My heart springs up with pride!

She arrives between Zebedee and me and faces him. “Move!” She growls like an angry lioness.

“Or what?”

“You know what happened the last time, cow!”

Her shimmering crescent-shaped sword comes into view, and I hear some giggling in the background. No one forgets how severely Karen beats up Zebedee because of me, especially in the ‘Rings of Sand.’ He simply bows his head in shame and leaves with our colleagues.

“She can’t stop helping him because his cock is not as weak as his fighting skills!” I hear a feminine voice say, followed by rounds of laughter, which fade into the distance.

Karen veers around, and as our stares interlock, my heart melts like wax. Her red, rosy hair matches her full crimson lips. Her oval face is blessed with a light scar on the left side of her jaw— a signature from her brutal battles.

“I am sorry.” I apologize. My head slightly tilts to an angle. “But it is written in Neem laws that anyone who performs another’s assignment is to be thrown into a pit crawling with spiders, worms, and snakes for a week. Only survival of the pit guarantees a return into the fold...”

“I know,” she cuts in.

“You are getting into the pit again...” My voice trails off halfway through the sentence.

“Yes, Razal. And would be getting out, as usual.”

I try to speak again, but for some reason, my voice ceases. For me, she is a god because aside from being Neem, she is also Hebrew, the only Hebrew-Neem ever known. How this miracle happened, no one can tell.

The way she endures pain is something else I admire. She would willingly do my punishments every time. Just because she knows I cannot endure them.

“Well...” She raises her eyebrows, and her mood wanes into melancholy.

“The fire is here.”

My heart skips. We know the source of the fire, and if our suspicion is true, then Golem is finished!