The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue over the city of Fez as Rashid stood at the helm of a military council. The council room was tense, filled with murmurs of war and anxiety. Morocco’s generals and advisors gathered around a large wooden table, a map of the kingdom and surrounding territories laid before them. Rashid could see the fear in their eyes, but also a burning desire for survival.
General Alim, a battle-hardened veteran, stood at the far end of the table, his brow furrowed. “The reports from the frontlines are clear. Spain and France have already begun positioning their forces. The assault on our borders is imminent.”
The room grew silent as Alim’s words sank in. Rashid felt a chill run down his spine. They had known this day was coming, but now, standing on the precipice of war, it felt all too real.
King Idris sat on his throne at the head of the table, his face impassive. He had summoned his war council to make a decision, but Rashid could feel the growing rift between them. His father’s focus was solely on military strength, while Rashid had his own vision for the kingdom’s future—a vision his father seemed reluctant to acknowledge.
“Spain and France are powerful,” Rashid said, his voice calm but firm. “But we’ve faced powerful enemies before. We must be strategic, not just aggressive.”
King Idris’s eyes flickered toward his son. “And what would you suggest, Rashid? Diplomacy, perhaps? Do you believe words will stay their swords?”
Rashid straightened, meeting his father’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “No. But there’s more to winning a war than brute force. We need alliances. We need to weaken their supply chains, disrupt their forces before they ever reach our borders.”
General Alim nodded thoughtfully. “He’s right. Striking at their logistics could slow their advance.”
Rashid’s thoughts shifted toward the potential allies Morocco could rally. Throughout the African continent, many smaller kingdoms and tribes looked to Morocco as a symbol of resistance against European powers. If Rashid could unite them, it would bolster their defenses against Spain and France.
“We need to send envoys,” Rashid continued, glancing around the room. “To our allies in the south, to the Berber tribes and the kingdoms beyond the Sahara. If we can unite them under a single cause, we’ll have a force strong enough to challenge both Spain and France.”
One of the advisors, a portly man named Tariq, scoffed. “You believe these desert tribes will risk their lives for us? They barely stand united among themselves.”
Rashid’s gaze hardened. “They don’t want to see Morocco fall. If we fall, they’ll be next. Convince them of that, and they’ll fight.”
King Idris remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the map. Rashid could tell his father was weighing his words carefully. The king was a man of action, not diplomacy, and Rashid’s approach likely seemed weak in his eyes.
But finally, the king nodded. “Very well. Send your envoys. But make no mistake, Rashid—war is coming. And when it does, our strength will be tested.”
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Rashid inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I understand, Father.”
That night, Rashid found himself standing alone on the palace rooftop, looking out over the darkened city. The moonlight bathed Fez in an ethereal glow, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. His father’s doubt still weighed heavily on his mind, and the impending war loomed large.
As he stood in silence, a familiar warmth began to build within his chest—the power of the Eternal Flame. Rashid closed his eyes, allowing the heat to rise, feeling it course through his veins. The flame had been growing stronger since he had destroyed the Ashen Crown, but now, it felt almost overwhelming, as if it were pushing against the boundaries of his control.
“What do you want from me?” Rashid whispered to the flame, his voice lost in the night breeze.
He could feel it—an insistent pulse, a hunger for more. The Eternal Flame was a gift, but it was also a burden. Rashid knew he needed its power to defend his kingdom, but he feared what it might demand of him in return. He had seen what it had done to the Flamebearers, how their lust for power had led to their downfall.
Safiya’s voice broke the silence. “The flame speaks to you, doesn’t it?”
Rashid turned to find her standing behind him, her expression soft but full of understanding. She had been with him since the beginning, through every trial, and she knew better than anyone the weight he carried.
“It grows stronger,” Rashid said, turning his gaze back to the horizon. “Sometimes it feels like it’s trying to control me, not the other way around.”
Safiya stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm. “You control the flame, Rashid. It doesn’t control you. You’ve already proven that when you destroyed the crown.”
Rashid nodded, but the doubt lingered. “And yet, I feel it pulling me toward something. Something greater.”
Before Safiya could respond, a loud knock echoed through the palace corridors. One of the royal guards entered the rooftop terrace, his expression grim.
“Prince Rashid, Lady Safiya,” the guard bowed. “A messenger has arrived. He bears news from the south.”
Rashid’s heart skipped a beat. He exchanged a glance with Safiya before following the guard to the war council chambers. There, a man dressed in tattered desert garb waited, his face covered in dust and exhaustion. He bowed deeply before the prince.
“My lord,” the messenger began, his voice hoarse. “I bring news from the Berber tribes. Spain’s forces have already crossed into the southern territories. They have allied with several desert factions and are raiding villages along the border.”
The room grew cold. Rashid clenched his fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. Spain had moved faster than they had anticipated, already making their way into the heart of Morocco’s territories. And worse, they had managed to sway some of the desert tribes to their side.
“We underestimated them,” Malik said, his tone grim as he stepped into the chamber. “If they’ve secured alliances in the south, our forces will be stretched thin.”
Rashid’s mind raced, but he didn’t allow panic to overtake him. This was exactly the kind of situation he had been preparing for. He turned to the messenger. “Tell the tribes who remain loyal to prepare for battle. I will personally ride south to meet with them.”
King Idris, who had been silently observing from his throne, finally spoke. “If Spain has already gained a foothold in the south, we will need to strike back immediately. Rashid, you will lead the forces in the south. Show them that Morocco will not fall easily.”
Rashid nodded, his resolve hardening. “I will. And I will ensure that Spain regrets ever setting foot on our soil.”
As the council dispersed, Rashid made his way to the royal stables, where preparations were already underway for the journey south. Malik, Safiya, and a small detachment of elite soldiers would accompany him. The road ahead would be fraught with danger, but there was no turning back now.
Safiya approached Rashid, her eyes filled with determination. “You’re ready for this.”
Rashid mounted his horse, feeling the familiar warmth of the Eternal Flame surging within him. “I have to be.”
As they rode out of the palace gates and into the night, Rashid knew that the real battle was only just beginning. War had come to Morocco, and it would take every ounce of his strength, his power, and his cunning to protect his kingdom from the gathering storm.