Even the guards stationed in the palace, hardened by duty, couldn't help but share whispers during the quiet of night patrol:
> "My wife can hardly sleep without that drink."
"My son, he cries for the sweet taste that the Malwan used to make."
"He's locked away in a dungeon… yet somehow he holds all of us captive."
Deep beneath the imposing palace, Veer sat cross-legged in his cell, lost in contemplative silence. The cold stone beneath him was uninviting, but over time he had warmed it with patience and resolve. A rat scurried past his leg, and somewhere above, thunder grumbled ominously, as if mirroring the tumult above.
The echo of footsteps interrupted his solitude. It was the jailor, older and rough around the edges, missing a tooth and sporting an expression of mixed irritation and awe.
> "They've asked for you in court," the man grumbled, his tone a reluctant acknowledgment of the stir Veer had caused.
Veer lifted his head with a slight arch of his brow. "Court? What do they want? Did my ladle offend them once again?"
> "Seems your absence has left them hungrier than your jokes ever could."
Veer slowly rose to his feet. His clothes were tattered, yet his posture was unwavering, reminiscent of a general rising from prayer, embodying a quiet strength.
A smirk danced upon his lips.
> "Took them long enough to notice."
In the grand council hall, nobles argued with a cacophony that echoed through the stone walls louder than ever before. The Queen's soothing sleep tea had vanished, leaving her restless. The King's beloved spice blend — now extinct, like a forgotten dream. Soldiers grumbled in agitation, while farmers, their fields dwindled and dry, demanded better pay for their waning fortunes.
Amidst the chaos, one man sat, shackled but smiling, the embodiment of resilience.
Veer, exuding an air of tranquility amidst turmoil, was finally met with the King's furious yet undeniable curiosity.
> "What did you do to my kingdom, boy?" he demanded, trying to hide the desperation behind the urgency in his voice.
With serene confidence, Veer replied:
> "I watered it."
The assembly of courtiers stared in unison, their eyes wide with disbelief and dawning realization.
> "And when the roots took hold, I stepped away... and let the thirst speak for me."
By the end of the second week, Sultan's Kingdom had not been vanquished by swords or siege warfare, but by a far more potent adversary: scarcity. And within this realm of desperation, Veer, though confined to a dark dungeon, ruled from the shadows with an invisible hand, orchestrating a revolution fueled by the hunger that once united them all.
If you control what people depend on... you don't have to instill fear to survive. Instead, you let their desires bow down to your will first."
This profound statement echoed through the majestic stone hall of the royal court, a place that now buzzed with an oppressive silence.
Ministers, their brows slick with anxiety, waved small fans in front of their faces in a futile attempt to escape the stifling air. Not a single servant dared to glide through the hall, bearing scented oils to soothe their nervous spirits. Even the braziers, usually dancing passionately with flames, flickered dimly, starved of wood — a precious resource that had become as rare as a whisper of good news.
Seated upon a striking black marble throne, The Sultan, a figure both imposing and regal, wore a heavy frown that matched the weight of his worry-laden arms. Around him, his courtiers stood in tense semicircles, conversing in urgent whispers about their kitchens that had turned barren, how their wives, once vibrant, now looked ill and ghostly, and how every envoy hesitated to bring news without first seeking the enigmatic water seller known as Shant Jal.
Finally, at long last, they summoned Veer into their midst.
Shackled and bedraggled, he made his way forward slowly, his clothes tattered but his posture unwavering. His shoulders were straight, and his eyes blazed like embers against the calm façade of his face. There was no fear there, nor an ounce of remorse.
> "Unbind him," commanded the Sultan, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.
As the guards exchanged uncertain glances, one of the ministers leaned closer to the Sultan, his voice low but urgent.
> "If we remove his chains, he may begin to believe he's our equal."
With a weary sigh, the Sultan returned a murmur, almost a lament.
> "He already perceives himself that way. And even worse, the masses do too."
With a clatter of metal against stone, the chains fell to the ground, some remnants of old power dispersing with the sound. Veer inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Majesty," he acknowledged, his voice smooth and unyielding.
"You have brought this kingdom to its knees, all with the sweet allure of honeyed water," the Sultan's gruff voice, laced with a mix of admiration and ire, filled the hall.
> "No, Your Grace," Veer interjected, a hint of politeness in his tone. "I simply provided quenching for their thirst."
The atmosphere grew colder, frigid anticipation hanging in the air. The Sultan rose, towering as he stared down at Veer.
> "Here's the deal, boy. You walk free. You shed those chains. You return to your marketplace. But the water you create? It's for us."
> "For the court. For the nobles. For the soldiers," Veer clarified.
> "In exchange, the charges against you—" the Sultan began.
Everyone's gaze turned to Veer, waiting with bated breath. He tilted his head as if considering the Sultan's proposition deeply, a thoughtful frown forming before he suddenly let out a soft chuckle that cut through the tension like a knife — a sound so chilling, it sent shivers down the spines of all present.
> "An offer brimming with generosity, Majesty. However, I don't barter in forgiveness..."
The Sultan's fists clenched tighter, irritation bubbling under the surface.
> "What I offer are terms," he asserted.