CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: The argument
Milani hurled the money bag at him without ceremony, the disdain in her movement unmistakable. She towered over him, her presence sharp and unyielding as he remained seated, unbothered by her hostility.
One of his men retrieved the bag, unfurling it with practiced patience before beginning the count.
Milani shifted, giving him her shoulder, a hand propped against her hip. She waited, impassive, as if the exchange were beneath her.
“It’s all here, boss,” the minion confirmed.
“Let this be the last time we meet. Good day.”
Without another glance, she turned on her heel and strode away.
It was all she had left—her last savings. But if it meant securing Nana’s peace, then so be it. The alternative was far simpler, far more efficient: she could have killed him. Yet, no matter how easy the act, a life was still a life. She had been raised to ignore the weight of such things, but deep inside, she knew this was never meant to be her path.
The village’s new chief, a man whose stature matched his pettiness, watched her retreat with sour distaste. If she weren’t so formidable, he knew exactly what he would have done to her.
“Look at her, walking like a baboon,” the minion sneered.
The chief chuckled. The resemblance was, in truth, uncanny.
“What do we do about her, boss?” The older minion inquired.
A slow, cruel smile spread across the chief’s lips. “Patience,” he murmured. “Patience is key.”
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“Lenora, that’s enough!” Milani snapped, swatting the orange from the girl’s hands.
Nana, ever indulgent, smiled as she pulled Lenora into an embrace, plucking another orange and placing it into her small hands.
“She’s just a child,” Nana chided gently, running a hand through Lenora’s silky hair.
Milani exhaled in exasperation. “Nana, you’re spoiling her. That’s her seventh orange today—seventh! Her skin might as well start glowing orange at this rate.”
Nana laughed. “She’s a child,” she repeated with unshaken amusement.
They walked home together, their pace unhurried, the weight of the day settling into their bones. In just a week, they had harvested more oranges than they expected, sold more than they had hoped. And in that same week, Milani had tasted something foreign yet intoxicating—freedom.
Freedom to choose her meals without fear.
Freedom to wear what she pleased without reprimand.
Freedom to move as she willed.
And that freedom, in turn, brought something even rarer—peace.
Every evening, Nana would join them for dinner, lingering until midnight, her stories long-winded and endless. Milani would always fall asleep before they ended, only to wake and find that Nana had tended to Blade’s wounds before slipping away.
Each morning, Milani and Lenora made their way to Nana’s home, baskets in hand, their small ritual unchanging—plucking oranges before heading to market.
For Nana, their presence was more than a distraction; it was salvation. She had spent the past year in quiet solitude, unaware of how deeply loneliness had crept into her bones. Had they not come, she might have followed through with her darkest plan—an end written in poison. Instead, she had found laughter. Company. A reason to wake up each morning.
At the fork in the road, their steps slowed, knowing it was time to part ways.
“That reminds me,” Nana said, turning to Milani. “I’ll be traveling to my daughter’s matrimonial town tomorrow. I’ll be spending Christmas together with her family. Would you like to come with me?”
Her eyes held a quiet hope, but Milani already knew her answer. Blade remained unconscious, and she couldn’t leave him behind—not with Lenora.
“Nana, thank you, but I must decline. My husband still needs care.”
Nana nodded, though disappointment flickered behind her understanding smile.
“I see. Has he still not woken up? It’s been a week…” Her voice trailed off as Milani gently took her hand.
“He has always lived dangerously. Neglecting wounds is a habit of his. The last one nearly cost him his life.”
“My dear, don’t misunderstand—I only worry,” Nana reassured.
Milani squeezed her hand. “I know, Nana. I worry too. But if worry could wake him, he would have opened his eyes days ago. He’s strong. He’ll come back to us.”
A fond chuckle escaped Nana’s lips as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind Milani’s ear.
“When are you leaving?” Milani asked.
“Likely tonight or early morning.”
“Is it far? If so, take the camel.”
“My daughter’s husband will fetch me.”
“In that case, safe travels. My greetings to them.”
Nana’s smile was so wide it nearly hurt, her heart swelling with gratitude. She had been prepared to leave this world alone, but now—now, she was leaving with warmth in her heart.
Before she could express it, however, Milani’s sharp voice cut through the air.
“You, this girl!”
Lenora had snatched another orange and, with a mischievous giggle, took off running.
Milani groaned, chasing after her, the basket bouncing in her grasp, oranges jostling with each hurried step.
Nana stood frozen, watching them disappear down the road. And then, at last, she allowed the tears to fall.
For so long, she had believed she was the one offering them something. But in truth, it was they who had saved her.
It was a strange thing—how a single week could be more meaningful than an entire year.
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He stumbled down the short steps at the entrance, his body too weak to carry him, yet he forced himself forward. Rising from where he had collapsed took immense effort, his limbs sluggish and uncooperative.
Inside, the house bore the evidence of his struggle—furniture overturned, objects scattered, a testament to his repeated attempts to stand, only to crash down again. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness for days, his mind clouded in a feverish haze, sleep often claiming him against his will.
But today was different. Today, his mind was clear, and only one thought anchored him—Lenora.
He couldn’t afford to lose her. Even if it cost him his life, he had to get her to safety. That single resolve fueled his failing body, gave him the will to move.
Gripping a nearby pillar for support, he dragged himself upright, his breath labored. He let go, inching forward with slow, deliberate steps. Each movement sent sharp jolts of pain coursing through his chest, forcing him to pause. If he pushed too hard, he knew he might pass out again.
But the thought of Lenora wouldn’t let him rest.
He had no idea where she was, who she was with, or whether she was safe. Was she being cared for? Or was she suffering, treated like a criminal?
His legs, unmoved for a week, felt foreign to him—stiff, unresponsive. Walking was akin to dragging dead weight, his lower half numb while his upper body bore the brunt of the pain. His sides ached, his lower back throbbed, but none of it was unbearable.
As he struggled to catch his breath, hurried footsteps echoed down the hill. Instinct sharpened his senses, and he straightened, scanning the compound.
There was little to hide behind—just the two large orange trees by the entrance, a camel near the water faucet, and a stone sink. The ground, a sandy expanse perfect for sparring, felt mocking in his weakened state.
He had no weapons, no cloak, no robe—nothing that could offer him an advantage. But he had survived worse. If need be, he would defend himself with whatever tricks remained up his sleeve.
Then, a voice split through the air, sharp and joyous.
“Uncle!”
Blade’s head snapped up so fast the movement left him dizzy.
Lenora was sprinting toward him, arms outstretched, her hair billowing as she ran, her eyes gleaming with pure delight.
At the sight of him, Milani halted in her tracks.
Blade dropped to his knees just as Lenora crashed into him, flinging her small arms around him with all her strength. He enveloped her, his grip firm yet trembling.
That embrace was the cool water his tormented soul needed.
Silence wrapped around them, thick with emotion. Their hearts beat against each other, speaking words neither of them voiced.
It was a beautiful sight.
Milani approached, a basket of oranges in her hands. Her expression was unreadable, torn between relief and exasperation. She was glad to see him awake, but concern flickered in her eyes—was Lenora’s fierce grip causing him pain?
And then, without explanation, she felt annoyed.
At him.
For no reason she could name, irritation simmered beneath her relief.
Slowly, Blade released Lenora, studying her with intent, his eyes sweeping from her head to her toes and back again.
“Turn around for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice weak but steady.
Lenora obeyed, spinning slowly, but Blade’s attention shifted beyond her.
His gaze landed on Milani.
The moment he saw her, he pushed himself to his feet, yanking Lenora behind him, his breathing heavy, fists clenching as if bracing for a fight.
Milani stopped in disbelief. “Are you trying to protect her from me?”
“As long as I have the strength to, I will,” Blade answered, unwavering.
She exhaled sharply. “Now I understand why I was irritated with you.” Her voice carried the weight of unspoken grievances. “No matter what I do, you’ve already decided I’m the enemy.”
Blade scoffed. “Like you haven’t betrayed my trust before.”
A small tug on his trousers pulled his focus downward.
“Aunty Milani took care of you, Nana, and me,” Lenora said earnestly.
Blade’s gaze flickered back to Milani, skepticism shadowing his features. “Really?”
Lenora nodded.
“Who else is with us, Lenora?” Blade asked carefully. If she named others, perhaps he could piece together Milani’s motives.
“Nana,” she answered innocently.
Blade frowned. “Nana? Who’s that?”
With an exasperated sigh, Milani walked past him, the basket of oranges still in her arms.
“We met a grandmother when we arrived in this village. She gave us this house and helped us while you were unconscious.” She turned, her eyes locking onto his with quiet accusation. “To think you see her as a threat just shows how little trust you have left.”
Blade followed her movements, Lenora clinging to his leg like a starfish. He observed Milani carefully.
“You look like you have a lot to say,” he noted.
“Oh, I do.” Her voice was clipped, sharp with restrained emotion. “But you’re—”
“Why don’t you just get to the point instead of throwing snide remarks?”
Milani froze, then scoffed, utterly exasperated. “Snide remarks?”
With deliberate force, she set the basket down. It landed with a thud, emphasizing her irritation.
“You are the most insufferable man in existence!” she snapped. “Your arrogance is—ugh!”
Blade smirked. “I’m insufferable? Or do you just hate that I didn’t—”
“A simple thank you wouldn’t kill you, Blade!” she cut him off, her voice rising. “Do you know anything other than killing? Do you even understand basic manners?”
The question struck a nerve.
Blade said nothing.
Lenora, caught between them, watched their exchange with wide, unblinking eyes.
Milani took a deep breath, her voice softer but no less intense. “I get it. You grew up surrounded by hate, by threats to your life. I understand.” She held his gaze, unwavering. “But even in that darkness, were there really no people who stood by you?”
Blade’s eyes darkened. “What does my past have to do with this?”
“My point,” Milani pressed, “is that not everyone approaches you with a knife behind their back.”
Blade’s expression hardened. “But you did.”
Milani exhaled sharply. “Must you bring that up now?”
“You were the one who started this conversation,” he countered.
She threw her hands up. “I’m done with you!”
Snatching up the basket, she stormed inside, muttering under her breath.
“Unbelievable! He is so frustrating!”
