In the searing height of summer, the sun sets in the South, its heat capable of scorching the very will of enemies, forcing them back from the front lines. Every drop of blood and sweat was a testament to the ancestors' struggle to hold their reign—a long-standing rivalry that has carved its name in human history through centuries of conflict. Two ancient empires, giant monoliths of power, locked in the longest war from 54 BC to 628 AD.
Thrones and traditions were passed down through generations. They took pride in the magnificence of men who fought and laid foundation after foundation in every land they conquered—proving they were a nation that would never fade from history, timeless and unyielding.
However, history is not always rewritten by great wars. Sometimes, the destiny of a kingdom is altered by a single human, swayed by emotions that were once deemed insignificant for a great empire—long after the swords had ceased their clashing. In the magnificent land of Persia, beneath the shadows of palaces built by world-conquerors, it was believed that a man born into this world was rooted deeply to lead a nation.
Like a dagger kept only as a reserve, every kingdom has its hidden stories and its weaknesses. A King will never bow to anything that stands in his way... unless that dagger possesses a soul of its own.
The Encounter (The Banquet)
#Jewelry jingle.
Melodies from court musicians echoed through the hall, a celebration to welcome the King of Persia. The guests conversed about politics and trade alliances.
"My Lord Shael... why not choose a wife from among my daughters? Are they not beautiful enough to stand by your side?" asked a wealthy merchant from the South Asian region.
The man, Shael bin Ahmad, merely offered a thin, amused smile. Governing a nation was already a headache; he had no time for the trivial games of choosing a bride.
Sruk!
"Akhh!!"
"Aish, you are an embarrassment!" The merchant bolted from his seat, incensed by an amateur dancer's mistake. Brandishing his whip, he threatened the trembling girl.
"I paid your family a fortune for you to give my Lord a beautiful dance!"
"P... please forgive me, I merely tripped. Please do not strike me..." the girl pleaded, her voice trembling.
"You know the law: one mistake equals a hundred lashes. Stand up!" the merchant barked.
"Please! No! If my legs are lashed, how will I earn a living? These legs are my only way to dance..." she sobbed, kneeling at his feet.
"Aish! Your filthy hands—!"
"Oh, oh... that is no way to teach a lesson."
Shael's hand shot out, gripping the merchant's wrist, halting the whip mid-air. He gestured for the man to step back, his eyes fixed on the young dancer.
"Stretch out your hands..." Shael commanded.
"M-my Lord... I beg you..."
"Stretch out your hands. I shall not repeat myself," Shael stated firmly, the whip now in his grasp.
Paralyzed by fear, the girl extended her hands, resigning herself to her fate. This would be the end of her life as a dancer.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Light taps landed on her palms—soft, painless, like a gentle brush of silk.
"You are pardoned."
"Huh?.."
As the girl looked up in disbelief, Shael's long, elegant fingers tilted her chin upward. He traced the features of her face—large eyes, a slender nose, and a perfectly rounded face.
"What is your name, child?"
"Ro... Rouhi Nazneen..." she stammered.
Shael reached into his pocket and handed several gold coins to Rouhi. Her eyes sparkled. Usually, she had to dance until her legs were numb just to earn a single coin.
"The Moon Spirit is smiling now... that is how your face should look when you dance." Shael patted her head gently. Rouhi attempted to bow and touch his feet in gratitude, but he stopped her.
"No creature should ever bow to another. If you wish to give thanks, give it to Allah," Shael said, refusing to be worshipped.
"My Lord! Do not show pity to slaves! They will become spoil—"
#Shael unsheathes his sword.
"Any last words, greedy friend?"
"Forgive me, My Lord! I... I..."
#SLASH.
Cries erupted from the servants as they saw the merchant's head roll toward Rouhi's feet. Calmly, Shael wiped his blade with a piece of cloth torn from the dead man's fine robes.
"Chamberlain..."
"Yes, My Lord..." the official hurried forward.
"From this day forth, Rajju shall replace his uncle in the trade alliance."
Shael sheathed his sword, placed his hands behind his back, and approached Rouhi.
"Step on it... didn't your feet itch to trample him?"
Rouhi could only shake her head, speechless after witnessing an execution right before her eyes.
Shael patted her head once more before leaving her there, stunned. In their brief meeting, he had subtly taught her a lesson: never fear being stepped on by others. Your Lord always watches over you through the hands of His devoted servants.
#To be continued