Among the villagers, stood the outsider– draped in layer tan robes, his face mostly veiled to shield against the sun. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the guards posted at the gate. Their spears gleamed under the light, but their expressions were lax, bored. He stepped forward.
A hand halted him.
"Stop right there," growled one of the guards. "Where do you think you're going?"
The man raised his chin calmly. "I seek audience with the king. I bring matters of urgency on behalf of my homeland."
One of the guards squinted. "You're not from here... Where are you from?"
"Richha," the foreigner said, his tone is unwavering.
"Beyond the three seas."
The guard eyes widened. "Richha? That's across the infernal sands... How did you–?"
"By surviving what kills the unprepared," he interrupted, coolly. "Now, may I proceed?"
The second guard scrowled. "The king is occupied. You can't just show up and expect an audience. You should've sent a notice beforehand."
"We did. The king was informed. Check your records– or better ask him yourself."
The guards exchanged looks. One of them gestured to a palace aide, who appeared reluctantly. After hearing the whisper, he nodded and vanished inside.
The great hall was cold, despite the sunlight pouring through coloured glass windows. Massive golden pillars lined the walkway to the throne, which sat atop a raised platform adorned in velvet and embroidered silk. Seated upon it was King Veylor, robed in crimson and gold, bejeweled crown perched on his brow. He was a man of calm authority, but his eyes weighed down by years of indulgence.
A guard entered the hall, knelt at the foot of the stairs, and declared in a clear, booming voice ,
"All hail His Radiance! All hail the Majesty!"
The king exhaled slowly. "Yes? What is it?"
"A foreign envoy, my lord. From Richha. He seeks audience. Says it is urgent."
"Ah" the king murmured, his voice tinged with curiosity. "He's arrived, has he? Bring him in."
The guard bowed, turned, and left with swift obedience.
The guard returned and gave a nod. "The King will see you now."
The foreigner gave a slight smile beneath his veil. "As expected."
He stepped inside the palace, moving silently across the marble, past rows of statues and noblemen whispering from the shadows. He entered the grand hall, removed his veil, and bowed low at the foot of the throne.
"All hail the Majesty. May your reign illuminate the ages."
King Veylor waved his hand. "Rise. It is rare to see a man from across the great sands honor us in such a way."
"It is an honor, my lord, to stand in your presence."
"Speak, then. What brings the desert winds into our court?"
"I come bearing words from King Zahmir of Richha. As you know, our nations have enjoyed a long history of mutual respect and alliance."
"Indeed." Veylor nodded.
"But Richha... suffers, my lord," the envoy continued. "Our lands are parched, our wells dry. The desert grows crueler each year. Our people struggle to survive. We request access to your agricultural resources– water, grains, and seeds– so we may preserve life in our land."
The king raised an eyebrow. "And in return?"
The foreigner slowly reached into his robe and withdrew a scroll seal with a sun-shaoed emblem. He unraveled it with reverence.
"My king offers you ten million gold coins... two hundred and thirty-nine handcrafted jewels– each crafted by the mystics of the Sunforge Temple... Three ancient swords wielded by our nation's legendary warlords... Five hundred desert horses bred for war... One hundred trained war elephants... One thousand elite soldiers armed and loyal to your command... And—" he paused, letting the silence sharpen the weight of his words, "fifty of the the most exquisite women in the world. Chosen from across the continents, trained in the arts of pleasure, obedience, and courtly conduct."
The room was silent.
Even the whispers died.
King Veylor leaned back into his throne.
The advisor at his right leaned toward him, whispering something inaudible. The king did not respond at first– he tapped the armrest slowly, calculating.
"A generous gift," he finally said. "One worthy of consideration."
Another pause.
Then he raised his hand. "The alliance is accepted. Richha shall receive the aid it seeks. Have your people collect what you need by the next full moon."
The envoy bowed low once again. "All hail the Majesty. May your name be sung across generations."
He turned, walking out of the throne room, his steps delibrate, almost too calm. Once outside, beyond the gaze of the court, his lips curled into a sharp grin.
"Fools," he muttered under his breath.
"Phase one... complete."
Far above, from a darkened balcony concealed by the heavy shadows of stone pillars, the same hooded figure stood–
Silent, still, unseen.