It is said that, in this world, only the strongest survive, and perhaps that is true. But cunning also has its place. "Anas Bitar" was the name they gave me, although another name resonated in my memory.
"Whatever happens, do not regret what you did, because the past cannot be erased, the present keeps running, and the future is unimaginable." Those were the words whispered to me when I became sultan.
In the immensity of the hot sands lie the great empires of the East. Among them stands Jalrimal, famous for its distribution of silk and gold to countless nations. The family that reigns here is as numerous as its riches, but I am next in line to succeed: the last prince to arrive, a punishment from the gods for the superstitious, and for politicians, a new puppet... or so they thought.
In the silent corridors of the central palace, guards patrol, watching every shadow. But here, in my room, the lamplight remains off. Curiously, I find myself writing, sitting on the floor with my back against the cold wall, until a knock at the door interrupts the serenity of the moment.
-Prince, are you awake?- said a servant on the other side of the wood.
-Yes, is something wrong?-My voice, soft and tired, barely broke the silence.
-His Majesty wishes to see you before you fall asleep- the servant added.
Inside the room, the sound of my movements and footsteps could be heard as I walked toward the door, stopping right in front of it.
-I understand. I will see you in a moment.
After a moment, the young prince, or better known as the Falcon, walked through the palace corridors, now dimly lit by lamps. The gleam of polished gold on the walls reflected the footsteps of the young man and the servant as they moved toward a large door at the end of the corridor. It was a tall, solid wooden door, engraved with ancient and mysterious symbols. The servant knocked softly; a middle-aged man's voice answered from inside, and the door opened before them.