Orien and the fugitive

A thick silence engulfed the air, broken solely by the rhythmic pattern of raindrops dancing upon the foliage. After a year-long absence, the earth welcomed back the long-awaited rain from the realm of Aur. Amidst this serene stillness, a peculiar sound sliced through the atmosphere, racing alongside the wind, its echoes mingling with the damp earth. The girl, her face etched with fear and anticipation, cast anxious glances over her shoulder, her steps driven by an unyielding determination. Rain-soaked tendrils clung to her neck and cheeks, while her once pristine red dress bore the marks of mud and wear, betraying the arduous journey she had undertaken. A scratch marred her shoulder, unnoticed until now, a crimson thread tracing its path along her skin. Silently she sighed, the fear of being heard by her pursuers weighing heavily upon her. Lost in the enveloping darkness of the evening, she stumbled over an unseen obstacle, her injured foot protesting. Collapsing to the ground, her necklace shattered, its turquoise and golden beads cascading alongside three meticulously crafted golden roses, each petal a testament to the artisan's skill and devotion. As her belongings scattered around her, she lifted her weary gaze to the heavens, beseeching mercy for her battered soul. Despite the agony pulsing through her limbs, she rose once more, intent on retrieving what had fallen. Yet, the approach of angry footsteps reignited her panic, forcing her to abandon hope in pursuit of escape. With each step, fear coiled tighter around her, her breath quickening as her pursuers drew nearer. Turning to face her impending doom, terror gripped her heart, shattering her composure. At that moment, turmoil consumed her, for the end loomed ominously the fate she had fled, the specter of death hot on her heels. She collided without realizing it with a massive body compared to hers. His linen garment covered him like a shield made of silver-plated brass, adorned with praises and prayers to the beloved goddess, Ishtar. The girl looked at him, unable to comprehend what was happening, and opened her mouth to plead for salvation, but her voice failed her, and she lost consciousness. She collapsed before him, and he caught her in his arms before her body hit the ground. He gazed at her, helpless in his embrace, surprised and intrigued. A thousand questions raced through his mind about her. She appeared like an icy corpse, resting after years of struggling. In a bold movement, he extended his fingers to open one of her eyes forcibly. Something about her drew him in before she shut it again before her eyelids drooped. He wanted to confirm what he saw, and when he beheld her, his vision wavered. The color of her eyes robbed him, and he found them shining like green emeralds, captivating the gaze of the observer. In the meantime, a man, wearing the same attire but shorter in stature, with a lean and moderate build, approached him. A bow and arrows were fastened to a belt behind his back, with short, curly black hair and thick, bushy eyebrows. He had green eyes like those of a runaway. He went to speak to his master without noticing the girl who was in his hands: "Orien! The rain has stopped, but we can no longer light the fire as the wood has become wet. What do you command us to do now?" The commander, Orien, stood upright in his calm demeanor, mindful of what his hands held. When he noticed the unconscious girl, Arasim, he questioned him in surprise about her. However, the commander had nothing to tell him about her and simply said, "Carry her to the camp, and try to find someone from the caravan who can take care of her until she wakes up again." Arasim obeyed his master's orders and took the girl from him, carrying her to where Orien had instructed her, feeling perplexed by the situation. As his steps with the girl moved away from the commander, Orien adopted a cautious stance as he sensed danger approaching, anticipating what was to come, his hand ready to draw the sword from its sheath. Suddenly, three men appeared before him, their faces concealed, and their attire distinct from Orien's and his soldiers'. They were surprised to see him, and one of them whispered to his partner, "It is Commander Orien, the guardian of the state of Aur." The last one's eyes widened in alarm and disbelief as he saw him, filled with doubts and hesitation about what he should do now. He was well aware that the protector of the White City should not be trifled with. The three of them remained silent, looking at each other, unsure what to do. When Orien noticed their hesitation, he took the initiative to question them first, to uncover their hidden motives. "Who are you?" Orien asked firmly. "We are servants sent to search for a runaway worshiper. Perhaps you have seen her, sir?" The one in the middle, apparently the leader among them, responded, Orien hesitated for a moment before answering, examining their faces closely and reading their reactions. "What has she done to pursue her in such a relentless manner?" he inquired. "She was stolen from our master" the one in the middle answered before he could continue, but his words were cut short by a nudge from one of his comrades, silencing him from revealing more. The commander quickly noticed this, and a shroud of mystery enveloped these three and the runaway as he sensed their hesitation and secrecy. In the meantime, Arasim joined them, observing the group with absolute suspicion. As soon as he approached his leader, the latter decided not to waste any more time with them. He placed his hand on his assistant's shoulder, squinted his eyes, and said to him as he turned on his heel, "Get them out of here!"