The first light of dawn filtered through the tent’s canvas, painting the desert with golden hues. Rashid stood by the entrance, already dressed for the day. His mind was consumed by thoughts of Sheikh Faris’s betrayal. Spain had found a foothold in the south, and if Faris continued to support them, the unity Rashid had worked so hard to build among the Berber tribes would unravel.

Malik approached, his face grim. “The envoy is ready to depart.”

Rashid turned to face him, his expression unreadable. “Good. Tell him to deliver our message with strength but offer a path for peace. If Sheikh Faris values his people, he’ll know the consequences of siding with Spain.”

Malik nodded, his mouth a thin line. “I’ll see to it.”

Rashid’s eyes narrowed as he watched Malik leave. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, but this was a delicate situation. One wrong move, and Morocco’s defense against Spain could crumble before the battle even began.

Hours later, the envoy, Zayd, a young but sharp-minded diplomat, set off with a small escort toward Sheikh Faris’s camp. Rashid trusted Zayd to carry the message, but the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew this mission could either bring Sheikh Faris back into the fold or ignite a new conflict that would weaken their forces further.

As Zayd and his escort crossed the endless dunes, the horizon blurred by the heat, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of Rashid’s words on his shoulders. The prince had made it clear that there could be no middle ground. Faris would either return to the alliance or face destruction alongside the Spanish.

When Zayd and his escort arrived at Faris’s camp, they were met with a cold reception. Armed guards, draped in the colors of Faris’s clan, lined the entrance to the encampment. Zayd remained calm as he dismounted his horse, his diplomatic training kicking in.

Sheikh Faris’s tent was massive, adorned with rich tapestries and silks, a stark contrast to the harsh desert environment. Inside, Faris sat on a cushion, his eyes sharp and calculating. He was a man who had tasted power, and now, it seemed, he hungered for more.

“Envoy Zayd,” Faris said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge. “What brings you to my camp?”

Zayd bowed respectfully. “I come on behalf of Prince Rashid and the kingdom of Morocco. We seek clarity regarding your recent… alliances.”

Faris raised an eyebrow, leaning back on his cushions. “My alliances are my own to make. I’ve had no quarrel with Spain. They offer wealth, protection, and freedom from Morocco’s rule. What can your prince offer me?”

Zayd kept his composure, though the weight of the situation pressed down on him. “What Prince Rashid offers is the preservation of your tribe, your people, and your legacy. Spain’s promises are empty. They use you to weaken Morocco, but once they’ve taken what they want, they’ll cast you aside, just like they’ve done with countless others.”

Faris chuckled, though his eyes glinted with something darker. “I’ve heard the same arguments before. Why should I trust that Rashid will deliver on his promises?”

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Zayd straightened, his voice gaining strength. “Because Rashid fights for more than just his kingdom. He fights for the future of the desert tribes, for their independence from foreign invaders. If you side with Spain, you betray not only Morocco but every tribe that calls this land home.”

Faris’s smile faded, his expression growing serious. “And if I refuse? What then?”

Zayd’s gaze did not waver. “Then Morocco will see you as an enemy, and you will face the full might of our armies. Rashid does not take betrayal lightly, Sheikh Faris. But there is still time for peace. Return to the alliance, and no harm will come to your people.”

Faris was silent for a long moment, the weight of the decision hanging heavily between them. Finally, he stood, his eyes hard. “I will consider your offer, Zayd. You may leave.”

Zayd bowed again and turned to leave, though he could feel Faris’s gaze burning into his back as he exited the tent. He knew that Faris was playing a dangerous game, but whether he would see reason or continue down his path of betrayal remained to be seen.

Back at the Berber encampment, Rashid waited for word from Zayd. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the desert, and the atmosphere in the camp was tense. Malik, Safiya, and the other commanders were gathered around a fire, discussing their next steps.

“If Faris doesn’t come around, we’ll have no choice but to attack his forces,” Malik said, his voice low but urgent. “We can’t afford to let him continue aiding Spain.”

Safiya nodded in agreement. “But we can’t strike too early, either. If we alienate too many of the tribes, we could lose the entire southern front.”

Rashid listened quietly, his mind churning. The Eternal Flame within him flickered, responding to his growing frustration. He could feel its power, always just beneath the surface, tempting him to act, to seize control of the situation by force.

But he knew that the flame was both a blessing and a curse. If he relied too heavily on it, he risked losing himself to its power.

Finally, Zayd returned, his face drawn but resolute. He dismounted and approached Rashid, bowing respectfully. “Sheikh Faris has promised to consider our offer, but he gave no clear answer.”

Rashid’s jaw tightened. “Then we can’t trust him. He’s playing both sides, waiting to see who will emerge victorious.”

Malik cursed under his breath. “So what do we do? We can’t leave him unchecked.”

Rashid stood, his decision made. “We prepare for battle. If Faris doesn’t return to the alliance by the time we’re ready to move, we will deal with him as an enemy.”

As night fell, Rashid found himself once again alone under the desert sky, the stars twinkling above like distant embers. The Eternal Flame pulsed within him, stronger than ever. It was as if the flame was trying to communicate with him, to show him something beyond the physical world.

He closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the flame to fill him. His mind drifted, and in that moment, he saw visions—visions of fire and destruction, of armies clashing in the desert, and of a shadowy figure standing over a field of corpses. The figure was cloaked in darkness, but Rashid could sense its power, its malevolence.

A voice echoed in his mind, cold and distant. “The flame will consume all who seek to control it. Be warned, Rashid. Power comes at a price.”

Rashid’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. The visions faded, but the warning lingered. He knew that the Eternal Flame was more than just a weapon. It was a force of nature, one that demanded respect and restraint. If he wasn’t careful, it could destroy everything he sought to protect.

The next morning, Rashid rallied his forces. The Berber tribes were ready, their warriors eager for battle. Safiya and Malik stood by his side as they prepared to march south, toward Sheikh Faris’s territory.

Rashid mounted his horse, his eyes scanning the horizon. The road ahead was uncertain, but he knew one thing for sure—war was coming. And with it, the true test of his leadership, his power, and his resolve.

As the army began its march, the desert winds picked up, carrying with them the scent of conflict. Rashid’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the Eternal Flame burning within him, guiding his steps toward an uncertain future.