The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air as Malin stood behind the counter, his easy grin and lively eyes drawing in yet another group of warriors who had stopped by his family’s shop. With his usual charm, he handed over a warm loaf, his fingers lingering as he made a show of wiping the flour from his hands.

“You know, gentlemen,” he said, his voice light with humor, “I bet even the likely future Sultan, Duke Alder himself, would go crazy for this bread. Not that he’s exactly had the privilege to try it… yet.”

One of the warriors, a burly man with a scar running across his cheek, raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t heard, lad?” he asked, his voice gruff. “There’ll be no ‘Sultan Alder’ anytime soon.”

Malin’s smile faltered, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

The warrior exchanged a glance with his companions before looking back at Malin, his expression somber. “Duke Alder was found dead, stabbed on the streets of Nonrakey. A tragedy—good man, that one.”

The words hit Malin like a blow to the chest. Alder, the gentle duke Nahra had been expected to marry. Gone. His voice caught in his throat, but he managed to keep his face composed. “I… I didn’t know,” he murmured, forcing a shaky smile as he passed over another loaf.

The warrior nodded, his tone lowering. “Aye, terrible business. But there’s more. The next in line to inherit is Aza.” The man spat the name out, his distaste clear. “That one’s trouble. Heard he’s coming to meet the princess in a day or so.”

Malin swallowed, his mind reeling. He knew of Aza, as most did. Tales of the young duke’s playboy antics and ruthless ambition were as much a part of Nonrakey’s reputation as its wealth. Aza was brash, selfish, a man who cared more for his pleasures and power than any duty to the people. If Nahra—his Nahra—was to be married off to such a man, she would be nothing more than a beautiful object for his entertainment, bound to a life of opulence yet hollowed by her lack of freedom.

He tried to mask the anger and fear rising in his chest, forcing himself to smile as he nodded politely to the warriors. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Here, take a bit more, on the house. Consider it my small way of saying thanks for the news.”

The men grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as they left the shop, their laughter fading into the street as they moved on.

As soon as they were out of sight, Malin’s shoulders slumped, his stomach twisting with a sick sense of dread. Aza. Of all people, it had to be him. He knew Nahra’s fate had always been one of duty, bound by royal blood to marry for alliance rather than love, but this was different. This was condemning her to a life in the hands of a man who cared nothing for her spirit, her intelligence, her kindness. She would be trapped, stripped of her dreams and her dignity.

Malin closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the counter as he took a deep breath, the flour-dusted wood cool against his palms. His mind raced, thoughts swirling with worry and helplessness. What could he do? He was just a baker, a commoner with no claim to power, no place in the world of royalty and politics. His love for Nahra—unspoken and unrequited—was nothing but a foolish dream in the face of such stark reality.

He forced himself to move, gathering up the remaining loaves and preparing to close the shop. But his hands shook, his mind drifting back to the stolen moments he’d shared with her, the laughter, the warmth in her eyes. Now, those memories felt bittersweet, the knowledge of what lay ahead for her casting a shadow over each cherished moment.

As he locked the door, casting a final glance at the empty street, he felt the weight of his longing settle heavy in his chest. Nahra was slipping away, a life bound to a man she would never truly know, a man who would never understand the vibrant spirit that Malin cherished so deeply.

With one last, aching sigh, Malin turned away from the shop, the dream of Nahra’s laughter now a fading echo in the quiet evening air.

As dusk settled over the city and cast a warm, golden glow through the windows of their small bakery, Malin sat beside his mother, his expression troubled. He had shared with her the news of Duke Alder’s death and what it meant for Nahra. He hadn’t gone into detail about his feelings, but his mother could see the weight of it in his eyes, in the way he slumped in his chair, his gaze distant and forlorn.

His mother, Zara, looked at him with soft pity, her gentle hands resting on her lap as she listened. “Oh, Malin,” she murmured, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “It’s hard, I know. I can see how much she means to you. But… there are many other women in this city, lovely girls who would be happy to be with a young man like you. Perhaps it’s time to let her go, hmm?”

Malin let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his messy curls. “I know, Mother. I do. But…” He paused, struggling to find the right words. How could he explain the way Nahra filled his thoughts, how her laughter, her kindness, her presence had woven itself into the very fabric of his life? He shook his head, his voice dropping to a murmur. “She’s different. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

His mother gave him a small, understanding nod, reaching over to pat his hand gently. “Sometimes, life doesn’t turn out the way we hope, my son,” she said softly. “I know it hurts, but there’s a world of possibilities still open to you. You’re young, and there are many paths you could take. Many people you could meet.”

Malin managed a weak smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, Mother. I’ll… I’ll try.” But deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Nahra wasn’t just someone he could replace, someone he could forget. She had become a part of him, a piece of his heart that wouldn’t be so easily given to another.

Seeing the sadness in his face, Zara squeezed his hand. “Get some rest, Malin. You’ve had a long day. Perhaps tomorrow will bring you some clarity.”

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He nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him as he stood up. “Goodnight, Mother.”

“Goodnight, my dear,” she replied, watching him with a look of quiet sympathy as he made his way to his small room at the back of the bakery.

Malin lay down on his modest cot, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to clear his mind. But thoughts of Nahra lingered—her face, her laugh, the way she had looked at him with that mix of amusement and understanding. Tomorrow, he knew, would be the beginning of her journey toward a life he could never be part of.

With a heavy heart, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to surrender to sleep, knowing that his dreams would be filled with memories of her—memories he knew he would soon have to let go of, no matter how much it hurt.

As Malin drifted into sleep, the worries of the day slipping away, he found himself standing in a strange, serene place. The air around him was warm, filled with a soft glow that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. And then, emerging from the light, a figure began to approach—a man in his early thirties with a calm, compassionate expression, his presence radiating a quiet strength and warmth.

The man had striking, deep violet eyes that seemed to hold galaxies within them, a soft beard that framed his face with an air of wisdom, and hair of silver that flowed naturally, lending him a timeless grace. He wore a simple robe, draped in elegant white fabric, flowing and layered with an almost divine simplicity. A warm, inviting smile played on his lips as he approached, making Malin feel both comforted and humbled in his presence.

Malin’s curiosity stirred, and he found himself asking, “Who are you?”

The man’s gentle gaze met his, and with a voice that resonated with both authority and kindness, he replied, “I am The Son of God.”

Malin blinked, momentarily taken aback. His mind raced, his thoughts struggling to understand. “You mean… a demigod?”

The Son shook his head slowly, a patient smile gracing his face. “No, Malin. Not a demigod. Something far beyond what you know. But do not worry about that now. I am here for a different purpose.”

Malin’s confusion lingered, but a strange calm settled over him as he listened. The man’s words felt real, more real than any dream, and he felt an inexplicable pull to trust him, to believe in what was being said.

The Son stepped closer, his eyes piercing yet gentle. “Tell me, Malin,” he said, his voice a soft command, “what is it that you truly desire?”

Malin didn’t hesitate. He looked up at The Son, his voice steady yet filled with the quiet yearning he’d harbored for so long. “I want to live beyond where I am now… to be something more than just a baker’s son. But more than that… I want to be with Nahra.”

The Son nodded, a knowing look in his eyes, as though he could see the depths of Malin’s heart, all his hopes and fears laid bare. “If that is truly what you desire,” he said softly, “then know that there is a path for you. But it will require faith, courage, and a willingness to act beyond what you think yourself capable of.”

Malin’s heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and fear. “What… what must I do?”

The Son’s gaze turned serious, his tone carrying a weight that Malin couldn’t ignore. “Tomorrow morning, Nahra will come to visit you. After your conversation, follow her to the palace. Her friend, Maya, who guards her, will trust you and help you find your way in without trouble.”

Malin’s mind raced, trying to understand the enormity of what he was being told. “And then?”

The Son’s expression softened, his eyes holding a glimmer of something ancient and wise. “Once you are within the palace grounds, you must seek an audience with the Sultan. Tell him that The Origin has sent you and that you are here to recover The Sword of Righteousness in exchange for The Princesses hand in Marriage.”

Malin’s breath caught, questions bubbling up as he tried to understand. “The Sword of Righteousness? I… I don’t understand. Why me? What is this sword? How will the Sultan believe me?”

The Son raised a hand, silencing him with a look of gentle authority. “Do not worry about the details for now, Malin. All will be revealed in time. You need only to have faith and follow the path that has been laid before you. Trust in what you have been told.”

Malin felt a surge of determination mixed with trepidation. This was beyond anything he had ever imagined for himself, but in this moment, standing before this man who felt like a friend, a mentor, and something divine all at once, he felt a strange assurance he could not explain.

“Will you do this, Malin?” The Son asked, his voice soft but unyielding.

Malin took a deep breath, nodding. “Yes. I… I will.”

The Son’s smile returned, warm and approving, as if he had known Malin’s answer all along. “Then go forward with courage. The path will not be easy, but if you walk it with faith, you will find what you seek.”

As the light around them began to fade, The Son’s image softened, his presence slipping away like a gentle breeze. But his words, his presence lingered, imprinted in Malin’s heart as he drifted back into a deeper, dreamless sleep, ready to face whatever lay ahead with newfound purpose and resolve.

The morning sun cast a warm, golden light over the small bakery as Malin went about his tasks, hands moving on autopilot as he prepared the day’s bread, laying each loaf out with practiced precision. His mother worked beside him, her presence grounding, though his thoughts were far from the flour and dough. The dream lingered in his mind, vivid and real, filling him with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. Part of him doubted that any of it would come to pass, that Nahra would visit him today, that any of the prophecy would unfold. And yet, he prepared himself, ready to seize whatever chance might arise.

Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, she entered.

Nahra walked into the bakery, her steps slow and measured, her gaze sweeping over the shelves of fresh bread before landing on him. In that moment, Malin felt as if time had stopped. He took in every detail, committing her to memory with an intensity that bordered on desperation. Her clear, radiant skin glowed in the soft morning light, her striking reddish-pink eyes holding a warmth that made his chest ache. Her features were soft yet defined, her beauty a blend of elegance and strength that took his breath away. Her figure, graceful and curved, moved with an effortless allure as she crossed the room, a vision of poise and quiet confidence.

He forced himself to steady his breathing, offering her a smile as she approached, though a storm of emotions churned beneath the surface. He knew, with a painful certainty, that this could very well be the last time he saw her like this—free, unburdened by the chains of duty that would soon bind her. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to hold onto this moment, to keep her here with him.

But he knew what he had to do. Whatever came next, he was ready.

He met her gaze, his heart pounding, and prepared himself for what lay ahead.