The Final Strife (The Ending Fire Trilogy #1)

by Saara El-Arifi

love may give you strength, but retribution gives you purpose.”

They were a musawa, neither man nor woman, like the God Anyme. Sylah recollected this Ghosting preferred the pronoun “they,” though some musawa went by “she” or “he.”

How nice it is to be so blinded by your own riches that you can’t see whose back your home is built upon,

Anyone could identify as a woman, man, or musawa without exception. And Hassa had always been a woman.

She was not born to sparkle. She was born to burn.

And be careful, the Keep is full of spiders.

“Oh, no, Sylah, it’s a gift for you, shall we put it in your hair?” Sylah smiled. “Okay.” That was the first piece that she braided into her hair.

“I like this one! Stab, stab, stab.” She lunged across the mat toward Sylah, grinning all the while.

“Are you threatening me?” She lifted her chin. “Yes.” Sylah was dumbfounded. And a little proud.

“I know. One day I will, Anoor. One day I will tell you everything.” Even if it meant losing her.

“Sometimes fire is what’s needed for new life to bloom.”

Tell them they are lesser. And they will feel lesser. Show them they are nothing. And they will be nothing. Take their identity. And they will be no one.

“Yes, I’ve half a mind to slap her tits through her back for it.”

😂😂☠️

“There is a thread I walk, its edges frayed nearly to dust. I must remain balanced to those who look carefully, even if all the while my mind takes a different path.” Gorn looked at Anoor. “That is the cost of loving her.”

One: that it was a cost Sylah was willing to pay. Two: that Anoor had a mother who loved her after all.

I was meant to be forged through fire and flame into glass.”

“You look beautiful, Anoor,” Gorn said, and her mouth opened to speak again. “Thank you…Was there something else?” Gorn lurched forward and Anoor flinched, only to be clasped in Gorn’s stiff embrace. “I’m so proud of who you are. And I’ll always be proud of what you do.” The words brought tears to Anoor’s eyes.

Azim was wrong, if we forget the individual, we forget ourselves. Come, my friends are waiting.

“You taught them to bloodwerk and in return they stole your land?” Nods around the room.

“May I be the first to congratulate you, Anoor Elsari, Disciple of Strength?” And as she grinned, Anoor saw the red seed jammed between her front teeth. The gravity of Sylah’s sacrifice hit Anoor in the chest harder than Jond’s axe could have done.

“I don’t want to leave you, Anoor. I love you.” “I know,” she said, but didn’t return the sentiment. “Come back to me, Sylah.” Sylah cupped Anoor’s face in her hands. “I will,” Sylah said. She trailed her fingers over Anoor’s lips, committing the shape of them to memory. Then she kissed her.

Sylah didn’t have time to mourn him, but she would. Fayl had always been kind to her. Except for the hunting-down-and-murdering thing. But that was only recently.

😂😂 I’m deeead