Arcane: Red Sands

--------the present, 2 weeks after the Noxian raid on the tunnels---------

Beneath the surface of Bel'zhun, the flickering torches burned low, casting jagged shadows across the mournful faces of the gathered rebels. The air was heavy, not with smoke or dust, but with grief. Six empty cots were arranged in a quiet alcove near the main chamber, each draped with a tattered flag bearing the symbol of Bel'zhun—a sunburst rising over a jagged horizon.

Kahlira, stood silently before the cots. Her broad shoulders, usually square with confidence, sagged slightly under the weight of their losses. In her hands, she held a simple leather cord strung with six small medallions, each etched with the name of a fallen comrade.

"Nasir, Faheem, Altair, Hadi, Imani, Khalid—they fought for this city. For the people who cannot fight for themselves. And we will not let their sacrifice be in vain."

She turned to face the assembled rebels, her amber eyes catching the torchlight. "We have lost six of our brothers and sisters," she said, her voice steady but heavy. "Six lives given so that the rest of us might continue the fight."

The crowd murmured in agreement, their faces a mix of anger, sorrow, and determination.

"They fought for something bigger than themselves," Kahlira continued. "For this city. For the people who can't fight. For the future we all deserve." She stepped forward, raising the cord of medallions. "Their names will not be forgotten. Malik, light the brazier."

Malik, the youngest among them, stepped forward with trembling hands, his torch lighting the ceremonial brazier in the center of the room. The flames roared to life, and Kahlira tossed the medallions into the fire.

"For Shurima," she said softly.

The room echoed her words. "For Shurima."

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In the dim light of the brazier, the small council of leaders gathered. Kahlira stood at the head of the table, her presence commanding but never oppressive. Tarek was at her right, his calm demeanor a counterbalance to her fiery resolve.

Opposite him sat Nasira, a lithe, sharp-eyed woman whose knowledge of weapons and machinery had saved the rebellion more times than they could count. Once an apprentice blacksmith, she had taken up arms after watching her master executed in the marketplace. She was practical and blunt, often the first to point out flaws in a plan.

Beside her was Malik, the youngest of the group, his wiry frame barely filling out the armor he wore. He had grown up in the streets of Bel'zhun, surviving by wit and luck. Though inexperienced, his knowledge of the city's hidden routes and forgotten tunnels had proven invaluable.

"We've tracked the convoy," Nasira said, her fingers tracing the map spread across the table. "It'll pass through the spice district at dawn. Wagons carrying supplies for the Noxian garrison."

"Patrol strength?" Kahlira asked.

"Minimal," Malik replied. "Two squads of soldiers, maybe twenty total. Nothing we haven't handled before."

Tarek crossed his arms, his expression grim. "They're adapting. Reinforcing the garrison while we're still bleeding from the last raid."

Kahlira nodded. "We can't afford to let this shipment through. Our people need them to survive."

The discussion turned to the stolen Noxian weapons—swords, spears, and a handful of Piltovan rifles. They were powerful but unfamiliar, and their use came with risks.

Nasira held up one of the rifles. "We've tested them. They're effective, but they're not made for the sands. One wrong move, and this thing will jam faster than you can curse it."

"We don't have a choice," Tarek said. "If we don't use them, we'll be overrun."

Kahlira picked up a rifle, her fingers brushing the Enforcer crest etched into its surface. It felt foreign in her hands, like holding a piece of the empire that had taken so much from them.

"They'll give us an edge," she said, setting the rifle back down. "But we use them sparingly. Our wits and our speed are still our greatest weapons."

---------------------

Later that night, Kahlira sat alone in the alcove where the medallions had been burned. The room was quiet, save for the faint drip of water from the catacomb walls. She held her sword across her lap, the blade worn but well-cared for.

Tarek entered silently, his heavy boots scuffing against the stone. He leaned against the wall, watching her in silence for a moment before speaking.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he said.

Kahlira didn't look up. "If I had been faster, smarter—"

"They knew the risks," Tarek interrupted gently. "We all do. And we all follow you because we believe in what we're fighting for. Because we believe in you."

Kahlira looked up at him, her amber eyes softening. "Thank you, Tarek. But belief won't bring them back."

"No," he admitted. "But it'll keep the rest of us alive."

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As the first rays of dawn crept through the cracks in the stone, the rebels gathered in silence. Kahlira stood at the center, her curved sword strapped to her back, her presence a beacon for the tired and wounded warriors around her.

"We've all lost something to Noxus," she said, her voice carrying through the chamber. "Homes. Families. Freedom. But what they've taken, we can take back. Not with brute force, but with resolve. With fire and steel. With hearts that refuse to be broken."

Tarek stepped forward, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder before he turned to the crowd. "The Lioness has spoken. Let's show them what it means to go against the Suns of Bel'zhun."

Nasira and Malik nodded, their weapons ready. Around them, the rebels raised their swords, spears, and stolen rifles. The air was thick with tension, their resolve palpable.

"Shurima L'akae" Kahlira said.

"Shurima L'akae !" the rebels echoed, their voices rising like a battle cry.

As they slipped into the spice district's shadowed alleys, their movements silent and coordinated, Kahlira felt the weight of their hopes on her shoulders. This was their moment—a chance to strike back and remind the Noxians that Bel'zhun would not be conquered so easily.