Perspective: Amira — Daughter of Commander Davrek, now a condemned traitor's kin
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The world shifted overnight.
Yesterday, I was Amira Blackwood, daughter of Commander Davrek — respected war tactician, master strategist, and empire hero. I walked through the inner city gates with pride. I had access to elite academies, top-tier labs, and sat beside nobles at the imperial observatory.
But today… I was nothing.
Our estate was stormed before dawn. Black Axe men in hundreds, armed with cold stares and fire in their boots. They didn't speak at first. They just tore everything down—photos, crests, furniture. They left my mother sobbing on the floor as they painted TRAITOR BLOOD in red across our walls.
I wasn't even allowed to take my books.
They dragged us to the square. Not to execute—no, we weren't that important. We were paraded. Shamed. A voice echoed across the plaza speakers:
> "This is the price of betrayal. Not just for the traitor… but for the fruit of their bloodline."
I stood shaking in my old school uniform, now marked with black ink: UNNAMED.
Children I studied with pointed.
Teachers turned their backs.
Even our cook spat near my feet before the guards pushed me along.
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Later that evening, locked in a holding cell for traitor-kin:
I sat on the metal floor. Cold. Hungry. Humiliated. I looked at the sealed file they dropped in: my new identity card.
Amira — No Surname.
It hurt more than anything else. Not even the slap from the soldier stung like that paper did.
And yet… part of me still wanted to scream, My father would never betray the Emperor.
But they had evidence. They had footage. I watched it. I saw him take the bribe. I saw him shake hands with Non-Blackwood filth and sign the access letter that got our people killed.
I wanted to vomit.
> "Why would you do this, father?" I whispered.
> "Why would you make me carry your shame?"
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And then I heard footsteps.
Not just soldiers—heavier. Synchronized.
Black Axe men.
They opened the holding room. The leader stepped in, face unreadable.
> "The Emperor has declared you and your bloodline erased," he said. "But… your file says you're seventeen. Not of age."
> "You have one chance."
I stood slowly, lips dry.
> "Chance?" I croaked.
> "Serve," he said. "Prove your loyalty. The Emperor does not forget betrayal… but he also does not ignore devotion."
He slid me a form.
At the bottom it read:
> "Initiate Candidate – Black Axe Auxiliary Corps."
> Name: Amira. No surname. Purpose: To serve, redeem, and bleed for the empire you once shamed."
I stared at it.
> "Do I have a choice?" I asked.
He smirked. "No. But you have a future. Choose wisely."
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