In a tent, outside the capital, the birth of a warrior was awaited. A warrior who could rebuild the lineage of the great king of Nozras. A warrior who could save the last branch.
A mother was pushing with all her strength. The voices of the women supporting her could be heard. Hundreds of people were gathered around to witness it.
However, when the baby was delivered, cries of horror echoed inside the tent. The warriors rushed in to see what was wrong and discovered, in terror, that it was a girl. The last lineage of Nozras was extinguished at that moment. The name Obu was dead.
And thus, Rita was born.
**
"What is her name, then?"
"Rita Obu. At least, not for long."
"Doesn't Rita mean 'the abandoned one'?"
"Yes, but it also means 'the one who abandoned us.'"
"Why is she still here? I thought we were supposed to chase her away."
"Yes, but her mother wants to make her a survivor, just in case. To preserve the honor of the last branch, she wants her to be strong enough to be feared."
"That's nonsense. We should have killed her and let her mother make another one."
"That wouldn't be Nozras' bloodline. It would make no sense."
"Nonsense."
Two men were talking about little Rita without knowing that she was there, and that she could hear everything.
She then looked up at the sky and wondered if she would ever get an answer to why she had been born. The stars were shining that night, so she could see each and every one of them. Maybe one of them would answer her question.
Unfortunately, once again, she received no answer.
She then walked through her small village with the little piece of bread she had been given. It was her only meal of the day. The women of the village mistreated her. The men did not even look at her. And the children were forbidden to approach her. Only her mother had permission to train her so that she would not bring shame to the name Obu.
She then headed toward her mother's tent.
And with a weak voice, she made her presence known.
"Mother, I'm here."
"I already told you not to call me that. The bloodline is broken because of you and me. We are cursed, we are nothing. We made Nozras lose the blood of its sovereign. We deserve death, but I must raise you. You must become stronger, Rita, stronger than anyone."
Her mother was sitting at the back of the tent, on her knees. She did not even turn around to look at her daughter, not even once. Yet she still took the time to scold her.
Rita knew it, but she did not want to know it.
She trained for ten years under her mother's wing to become the ultimate warrior. The final point of a lineage. Her movements became sharp, her muscles forged for battle. At twelve years old, she was stronger than most adults, and no one in her village could face her. Yet her mother still beat her as if she were a helpless child.
"You think you're important now? Because of you, the bloodline is ruined, and I have to carry this torment until the end of my life. Why aren't you a man? Why weren't you born a man?"
Rita endured without flinching. Her mother did not hurt her physically, she hurt her heart. It happened almost every day, almost all day long. It had been twelve years, and she knew it would continue.
She did not know if it was her fault, but she was certain of one thing: everyone blamed her.
…
One day, Rita was ready.Ready to conquer the world.
"Do not hold back even if she is a woman. She deserves to die anyway."
But she had to be tested to know if she was truly ready.
The test was simple: the entire village had to fight her, and the warriors of this village were not weak. They were all descendants of Nozras' royal guard. The most powerful bloodlines were gathered in this village, the safest in all of Nozras.
Her mother, sitting on a chair, observed her from afar. Her merciless gaze pierced Rita. Rita looked back at her. She dared to challenge her with her eyes, because today, she would be free of her destiny.
"Go ahead."
Her mother made a simple gesture with her hand, and all the warriors rushed at her. Rita saw spears, blades, fists, and daggers charging toward her, and she did not panic. On the contrary, she remained focused and began her session of massacre.
The warriors of the village were not holding back. On the contrary, they were doing everything to kill her. Rita brushed against death many times during her test, even though she was forbidden to kill.
However, after several long minutes, she was the only one left standing.
With heavy steps, she walked toward her mother, still seated, looking down at her without showing the slightest emotion on her face.
"Is it over, mother?"
Rita constantly reminded this woman that she was her daughter so she would never forget it. And she could not forget. Rita had just defeated all the warriors of the village. Her mother had to admit it: she was strong. Very strong. She had trained her well.
Yet she did not even give her a single glance.
"You may leave now, Rita Obu."
Rita turned around like a machine, blade in hand. During all the time her mother had not answered, she had been standing there like a murderous presence. Her mother knew it. Despite her impassive face, Rita knew that this posture, this presence she could only maintain once in her life, was intentionally threatening her.
The machine created by her own progenitor was almost rebelling, and in no way could she have stopped her.
"Obu, my ass."
Those were her farewells to the village that had mistreated her and treated her like a weapon so she would live as one. She was free to do whatever she wanted, yet she had been burdened with a task: to rule over Nozras. Something she was obviously not going to do.
She left the village while the warriors present could only see her back and a raised middle finger, and even then, they still found the time to spit on her name.
A few months later, Rita was walking.
She did not really have a goal. Having free will was sometimes complicated when you did not know what to do with it. She had spent the last months killing animals to eat them. Watching the sky, skipping stones, singing songs she knew by the lakes, making traps for birds. She was free to do whatever she wanted. But she wanted nothing.
All her desires had been sealed. All her heart had ever wanted was freedom, and now that she had it, she could not use it properly. No one had taught her how to be free.
Her body followed orders. Her soul was empty.
She took her time to see, to observe. To contemplate nature, its cliffs and valleys, its mountains and forests. She traveled through the land of war knowing it had already rejected her.
Her steps were light, as light as those of an assassin. But that lightness also made her shiver, because she wanted to feel real, yet her steps seemed to fade away.
Was she too free after having been locked in a cage for so long?
Rita was searching for answers about her existence, because unlike all the warriors, she had chosen to stay away from what she had been trained for. There, everyone only knew how to fight, and yet she refused to become what her mother wanted her to be.
But without that, life had no meaning in Nozras. The very name of the nation was that of the greatest tyrant of all time. A man whose strength was considered undeniable. So there was no place for a soul that refused combat in such a country.
Rita was then even more lost.
…
But one day, she came across a village. Another village, not her own. Beautiful lights escaped into the dark night.
She looked at the village from the top of a hill. She could see children running and playing. Women talking together around food. Men training in a corner. A perfect harmony, and everything that was most normal in life. A life she had never had and that she could only watch from afar.
She stayed there for several days, observing the village from the top of that hill. Sometimes, she laughed when the children laughed, as if she were part of it. She imitated the dances they sometimes practiced during rehearsals and shows before meals. She learned how to dress like them, because all her life she had only known threatening warrior clothes. She felt at home while staying far from home.
But one day, she understood that this home was too far away.
The day a little boy ran into his mother's arms after losing a fight against a young man who seemed quite strong and about his age. That little boy cried bitterly in his mother's arms, and his mother said to him:
"Come on, warriors don't cry."
Rita remembered that her own mother used to say the same while beating her after a defeat.
"Come on, warriors don't cry."
Her threatening voice was so different from the mother comforting her child, and her piercing gaze revealed no love at all.
She looked away, thinking that a mother's love was impossible to imitate. She did not know what it was. Maybe she needed it.
She then sat there, her head buried in her legs that she held tightly. Alone, above the hill, where she could see the joyful life of that village that was not her home.