You are a soldier of Al Thamen. Nothing else.

The phrase pounds inside my skull, as clear as the day it was beaten into me by this very man before me.

A clang of metal as the blade flies out of his grip and lands on the floor several metres away. Once I jump away from my former teacher, a familiar tweeting reaches my ears. "Irie!" I exclaim. How the heck did she get here? I was sure I locked her up safely in a secret compartment in the basement. She crashes into the wall next to me and the stone wall falls away on impact.

Okay, I won't question it.

I turn to meet my teacher's eyes, blank like my own. But just as he rushes towards me, a blur of red slams him against the wall.

"Masrur!" I exclaim, but before I could yell at him for abandoning his post, a horrible realization dawns on me. Sharrkan, Hinahoho, and Spartos are dealing with an army that can put itself back together. An army meant to keep their hands full. My teacher is here, which means Al Thamen made it into the palace...

"It's a diversion!" I shout. However, the sound of marching is already echoing down the hall. They're already here. "Irie, take this message to Pisti. The palace is under attack. Hinahoho, Spartos, and Sharrkan are just being distracted. We need defenses at the palace to protect the king now!" She flies out of the hole in the wall to find Pisti, while Masrur and I turn to face the approaching army.

"You have betrayed us. Now, you will face the consequences," says my teacher in that familiar monotone voice, standing in the sea of identical female faces – the assassin I saved Sinbad from. I throw my daggers, pinning ten of them to the wall at once. Like the assassin, these girls aren't human, they're unbreakable puppets made by Al Thamen, pulled by the strings of their magicians.

Within seconds, the puppets I have pinned to the wall tear themselves off, ignoring the pieces of skin and flesh left behind. Masrur and I tear through the puppets, crushing and slicing them into pieces. I know it won't do anything but we have to at least hold them off until help comes.

Barely a second after I slash my knife across my fifth puppet's chest, a kick in the gut knocks the air out of me. Just in time, I see the flash of silver and block my teacher's attack. As our knives clash repeatedly, his moves seem to grow faster and faster.

Finally, I find an opening and carve a deep slash into his knife arm. The tiny feeling of triumph in my chest turns into shock as the wound closes itself before my eyes. Farther down the hall, Masrur grunts as he struggles to throw off a bunch of puppets, when just a moment ago he could hurl them away with no effort at all.

I glance at the closed gash on my teacher's arm, which was the exact same pale color as the puppets' skin. His attacks continue, and I realise that he really is getting faster.

Ah, I see. They get stronger every time they get hurt.

"What's wrong? I can see through all your movements," my teacher taunts as pain shoots from the new cuts on my torso, arms, and thighs. He could have killed me by now, but he's taking his time, playing with his prey like a cat does with a mouse.

"Your eyes have changed. I can see right through your every move." From my side, a dismembered head bites my arm, pinning me to the ground. Immediately, several more stray limbs pile on top of me, leaving me no space to move. Wincing, I crane my head to see Masrur lying on the floor, motionless. What did they do to him?

A hand, my teacher's, grabs my hair and twists my neck painfully. "Are you wondering why these puppets bleed? They are made out of Al Thamen's dead soldiers. If you actually died trying to complete your mission, you would've ended up like them." His grip tightens so much that I feel like I'm about to be scalped. "And I suppose you've noticed that my hand is made out of those very same things."

Unable to move, I watch as the remaining dolls reassembled and head towards Sinbad's hideout, helpless at my teacher's hands, just like all those years ago when he first repeated the phrase that has been engraved in my mind for years.

But when I close my eyes, I don't hear those monotone words. I see the fireflies flickering in the damp grass, and I feel the pain in my stomach as I double over laughing. I see Ja'far's annoyed face, and I see him asleep on his desk. I see everyone cheering as I kill the Southern creatures, and fireworks bursting in the sky. I see Yamuraiha and Sharrkan arguing, and Sinbad's impressed smile. I hear my brother scream in my nightmares, and I feel Ja'far's hand dragging me out of it. I see myself turning to face him as I tell him my name, and I hear the words he said to me the night I tried to kill him.

I struggle against my teacher's grip. "You stay quiet and watch us kill King Sinbad," he says.

"My name is not 'you'," I mutter.

"What?"

"I said my name is not 'you'!" I free one of my arms and smash my elbow into his face until I hear a crack. "I am (y/n)! (Y/n) and nobody else." I smash the rest of the limbs holding me down. Strangely, I hear the sound of rukh twittering not just around me, but also inside me. It grows louder and louder until I can see them – little (f/c) fireflies flickering in the dark hallway.

I turn to face my teacher, my eyes blank but my voice steady. "I won't let you do as you please to King Sinbad," I say as he lunges at me with his knife.