Reality vanished. Surprisingly, Thorne didn’t feel anything occur to his body; rather, it felt as if existence was breaking down and then reconstructing itself. Thorne looked around fervently as he attempted to understand his environment.
The once timeless land of platforms and virtual screens were replaced by something far different. ‘Am I… flying?’ Sure enough, his body, or his virtual body, was soaring through the humid sky. He could see oceans of sand below him as his ethereal body coasted in the sun's radiance. ‘Whoa, is that…a city?’
Thorne squinted in the raging sun. ‘It is!’ Thorne confirmed.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a sound began melodizing throughout the land; the harrowing song bound together by simple strings permeated all of existence as it rang true throughout the desert.
“In the annals of ancient Arabian history, the Battle of Badr Sack stands as a monumental clash that forever altered the political and social landscape of the Arabian Peninsula. This legendary engagement, fought with unwavering determination and strategic prowess, unfolded amidst a backdrop of deep-seated rivalries and ambitions.” A loud, deep voice boomed in Thorne’s ear. It wasn’t painful or scary, but rather a welcome surprise. It was like a grandfather telling a story of his adventures, and Thorne listened with vested interest.
“Your journey begins in the arid dunes near the well of Badr Sack, where destiny has woven together a clash of civilizations. The Quraysh, a formidable Meccan alliance, looms before you, their banners billowing defiantly in the desert winds. Their ranks bristle with experienced warriors, renowned champions, and mounted cavalry, embodying a force that seems nigh unbeatable.”
Thorne nodded slowly. During the narration, he flew closer to the city. Thorne saw camels loaded with goods, donkeys pulling carts, and soldiers with turban-wrapped helmets and shining spears patrolling the street. Some of the guards did their duty on foot, while others rode horses along the sandy road.
“As a lowly foot soldier, your mettle will be tested like never before.” The narration continued, “You must steel your nerves, rally alongside your fellow comrades, and march resolutely towards the enemy lines. Amidst the cacophony of clashing weapons and the thundering hooves, the weight of the world seems to rest upon your shoulders.”
Thorne flew closer to the city and saw walls of white marble. The material had been accosted for years by the assault of sand and sun and showed signs of damage in its cracks and discoloration. He flew over the city; slums of the poor and the many lay on the city's outskirts in the sand. As Thorne flew more centrally, he noticed the marble grew more plentiful; gold was beset in towering structures that shone in the arid sun.
‘Is that…’ Thorne squinted. The rays of light—constantly bouncing and reflecting off the many structures—seemed to be absorbed by what he was looking at; The structure was a solid, cuboid building that stood tall and imposing in the city's heart. Its exterior was made of dark stones, giving it an air of strength and timelessness. The rocks were smooth and weathered, bearing the marks of countless years gone by.
Rising high into the sky, the cuboid structure seemed to touch the heavens. Its dimensions were impressive, yes, but simplicity caught Thorne’s eye. There were no intricate carvings or ornate decorations, just a plain, solid structure that exuded a sense of solemnity and reverence.
Wrapped around the cube was a black cloth, flowing like a curtain in the wind. The fabric was adorned with gold and silver threads, creating an elegant and intricate pattern that Thorne could not even attempt to decipher. It added a touch of mystery and grandeur to the otherwise austere structure.
Countless people of different clothes, skin, and ages gathered around the structure. Many brought small boxes of food or jewels. While others chanted and danced around the cube.
“The battlefield becomes your crucible. Fear grips your heart, but the flame of courage flickers within. Your trusty spear becomes an extension of your very being, and your shield is a barrier not just against physical harm but against doubt and uncertainty. As the battle commences, you find solace in the camaraderie of your brothers-in-arms, bound by a shared purpose and unyielding determination.”
Thorne flew away from the city, away from the sandstone houses and ostentatious palaces, away from the traders and guards, away from the mysterious black cube, away from peace and safety.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Strategy becomes paramount as you witness the unfolding of the grand chessboard of war. Your leaders skillfully maneuver the forces, exploiting enemy weaknesses and seizing fleeting opportunities. Your role is but a small part of a larger tapestry, yet the outcome hinges on every soldier's bravery and resolve.”
He flew across the desert. Over the roads, past the oases and travelers.
“The stage is set in the arid sands near the well of Badr Sack, where two formidable forces converge: the Quraysh, a formidable Meccan alliance boasting a vast array of warriors and resources, and the nascent Muslim community, a resolute band of believers led by the revered Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). The tension is palpable as the clash of swords and the echo of battle drums fill the air.”
‘So that’s where I am.’ Thorne realized, upon hearing the narrator's words, ‘The Islamic expansion!’ His heart pumped fast without reconciliation. Of course, Thorn’s own experiences would have shocked many earthlings beyond belief. The technology, the magic, the beats, the power. However, there was something so mythical about viewing the past of one's own world, something so innately connected with a person's soul.
“Adrenaline courses through your veins as you engage in close combat, locked in a dance of survival and aggression. Your senses heighten, attuned to the smallest details— the glint of a sword, the shimmer of a shield, and the adversaries' movements. With every swing of your weapon, every parry, and every calculated step, you contribute to the ebb and flow of this epic struggle.”
Once relaxed in its vigor, the man's rumbling voice rose in pace and pitch. Thorne felt himself soaring faster and faster through the air as the desert land was quickly skimmed over.
“The Battle of Badr Sack is not merely a clash of arms but a crucible that tests the very fabric of your being. Your destiny intertwines with the fates of nations, and your actions have a lasting impact. It is through the collective efforts of countless soldiers like yourself that the tides of history are shaped.”
Thorne finally saw what he was about to be placed into: an army of what looked to be no more than a few hundred lightly armored soldiers. They held spears of wood and iron in one hand and small circular shields in the other. The shields were battered and cracked, a testament to the ruthless past.
The small army was positioned beside a small sandstone well that stood just a stone's throw away from two mighty ridges.
‘So that is my enemy.’ Thorne’s face hardened as he saw who he was meant to fight; in the ravine lay an army of men, an army that looked at least triple the size of Thorne’s own. They had heavier, newer, less worn equipment.
Prepare yourself, brave Muhajirun, for the battle of Badr Sack beckons.” The narrator’s voice shouted at Thorne. It was a war cry, a call to action, a reminder of what is at stake!
“The sands of time will witness your courage, resilience, and unwavering spirit. Will you rise to the occasion, etching your name into the annals of valor? The path ahead is treacherous, but remember, even the smallest soldier can wield the power to change the world!”
Thorne soared with haste toward the smaller army and landed right into the frontmost line of the triple-line positioning. Suddenly, the immaterial form he had been so comfortably flying around in vanished. He gained a new body, a virtual body, the body of a warrior.
He looked down at his new form; ‘So I get a spear, shield, and light armor.’ He nodded, content, ‘It's just as the narrator said; I'm a foot soldier.’ He looked around covertly, attempting to understand the proper stance to hold his weapons and stand properly.
He did so and then simply stared ahead at the venue of war. The midday sun cast illusions on Thorne’s eyes; sand and dust played before him, creating movies and stories out of nothing. He stood there in silence for what seemed to be hours before anything happened.
‘There.’ Thorne squinted as he looked at the opposing army, ‘Someone is walking toward us.’ A man was trudging through the sand. His metal armor shone in the light, but what Thorne noticed most was his face, his dry skin, and cracked lips. ‘He seems to not have drunken in days.’ Thorne thought.
He walked up close to the army. Thorne noticed that he and the army stood around thirty feet from the sandstone well. The man was about twenty feet from the well and closing the distance fast.
Upon reaching the well, he did not drink or collect water. No, he looked out toward the army—that Thorne was in— brandished his spear and began to shout, “I, Azwa, swear on my honor as a Quraysh that I will drink this water or die.”
In front of Thorne, a man on a horse whom Thorne could not entirely make out began to speak in a hushed lull, “Hamza, go forth.”
A man standing beside the horse-riding leader nodded and began to step forward. Hamza wore more armor than most of the soldiers in his army; he was adorned with a plate metal chest piece. Furthermore, instead of the typical spear of the soldiers, Hamza wielded a finely crafted double-edged sword, the perfect weapon for a duel.
Hamza stepped forward. Each step he took was full of confidence; confidence in himself, and in his resolutions.
“I will fight with Azwa!” He shouted, now only ten feet away from the Quraysh soldier. Thorne watched the exchange without blinking. His attention was so entirely absorbed by the conflict, and the history, that he did not dare miss anything.
Azwa nodded, and brandished his spear, “Yes, we will fight. We will fight, you will die, and I will have this well!” He screamed and charged headlong directly at the waiting Hamza.