The following morning, an old man rode urgently towards the capital, his bloodshot eyes reflecting desperation and his face etched with grim determination. Clad in a weathered farming hat, he struck his horse’s bridle with increasing impatience. Mud caked his left leg, evidence of a recent fall, but he pressed on relentlessly. Storming through the bustling streets of Miraz, he reached the heavily guarded gates of the Castle of Miraz. Despite his injury, he dismounted and approached the main gate guard.

“Please, let me in! I have something crucial for the Queen,” he pleaded.

“Hold on, old man! The Queen is in an important meeting with the Army General,” the guard said firmly.

“Please, you don’t understand. It’s of utmost importance. I’ve come from afar. Just five minutes. Let me speak,” he implored.

“Look, old man... I already told you...” the guard started, but his words were cut off as the gates began to open. Muqaddam Nasih, the head of the barracks and training forces, appeared.

“What’s the commotion here?” Nasih asked the gate guard.

“He insists on seeing the Queen. I told him she’s busy, but he won’t listen,” the guard explained respectfully.

Nasih scrutinized the man, noting his urgency and injury. “Did you hurt your leg riding here?” he asked.

“It’s nothing serious. I was just in a hurry... Please, if you could...” the man pleaded, his desperation evident.

“Open the gates!” Nasih ordered.

“Come with me, but don’t rush. I’ll speak with the Queen first,” he instructed.

Inside the Castle of Miraz, tension filled the air. Queen Saba and General Haroon were in the main hall, discussing the looming threat from the West.

“General Haroon, what is your assessment of the approaching threat and the state of our forces?” Queen Saba inquired.

“My Queen, our men are always ready to defend our homeland. Following your recent speech, we’ve seen a promising increase in enlistments,” General Haroon replied with pride.

“How many troops do we have now?”

“We currently have two thousand trained soldiers, with an additional five hundred expected to be ready before the approaching battle.”

“And our enemy’s numbers?”

“Without the forces from the main keep and the far West, we face a threat of fifty thousand enemy troops.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Fifty thousand against two?” The Queen chuckled, though her laughter was strained, revealing her anxiety about their dire situation. Declaring war felt like sending her army to certain defeat, leaving nothing left to protect if they lost.

“My Queen, there’s no dishonor in this. Wars are won by the strength of our cause, not just by numbers.”

“General Haroon, it seems ironic to hear you count Jibraan among ordinary men.”

Haroon fell silent as the Queen continued, “He is still with them, isn’t he?”

“Perhaps... Maybe he has grown old... We might defeat him too,” Haroon said with a hint of hope.

“Perhaps? In a decisive war? Haroon, I hope you’re referring to the same Jibraan I remember. My mother once showed me a letter from my great-grandmother Hilma Ashkaan, who received a message from her brother Firouz Ashkaan after the Great Slumber. He wrote about the ‘Duel of Zuroth,’ where Jibraan, the Qaiser of Al-Jinn, clashed with Archangel Usqa, the Protector of the Realm. He described how Jibraan unexpectedly severed Usqa’s wings and defeated her in ground combat, leading to Zuroth’s turmoil. General Haroon, do you really believe we can stand a chance against him? These thoughts weigh heavily on me.”

“My Queen, historians debate the details of Usqa’s defeat in the Duel of Zuroth. Nonetheless, Jibraan was a traitor who killed the King he was sworn to protect. After that turmoil, no one has heard from him since.”

“A man sworn to protect, kills his liege. Can you imagine?” Queen Saba pondered.

As the room fell into silence, the main hall’s gates were knocked upon. Queen Saba, with a mix of curiosity and annoyance, wondered who would interrupt such an important meeting. General Haroon’s face hardened, perceiving the interruption as an affront.

“Who dares to interrupt us? Enter,” the Queen commanded.

Muqaddam Nasih entered, walking with a tone of respect laced with apprehension. He approached the Queen and saw General Haroon, who stood to the right of the throne, glaring sharply.

“What are you doing here?” General Haroon demanded, his voice tinged with irritation.

Nasih did not address Haroon directly. Instead, he turned to the Queen, “My Queen, I beg your forgiveness. I mean no disrespect. A man has arrived from the far reaches of Alqarah, desperate to see you. He is worried and hopeful. He requests an audience with you if you permit.”

“Thank you for reminding me of my duty to my people, Nasih. Let the man in,” Queen Saba instructed.

As Nasih left to fetch the man, a smile flickered on Queen Saba’s face.

General Haroon remarked, “I apologize for his actions, My Queen. He is still young and foolish.”

“No, Haroon. Your brother has a good heart, and that is not foolishness.”

The man entered the main hall, and Queen Saba addressed him, “Yes, tell me, what do you seek?”

“My Queen, I apologize for this intrusion. I must deliver this letter to you; otherwise, he will kill me and my family...” The man’s hands trembled as he presented the letter, which General Haroon unfolded.

“I am but a farmer from Sarmad. He came ruthlessly, burned our house, and threatened me to deliver this to you.”

“Haroon, what does the letter say?”

General Haroon read aloud, “Queen Saba of Alqarah. Greetings from Daavar Jalal. I hope this man has reached you safely. Inform him that his family has been granted the eternal peace of justice. After hearing of your recent sermon in Miraz, I must express my admiration for your bravery and folly. As a connoisseur of rich lands and their history, I visited Alqarah to propose peace talks. However, I was taken aback by the unyielding resilience of your soldier at the shore of Rafayt. He just didn’t talk! I complimented him with a gift, which I trust you will appreciate. Queen Saba, prepare well, for the word of war is imminent from the West. I look forward to meeting you after the battle.

- The Lord of War”

As General Haroon finished reading, the Bell of Harm began tolling in Miraz, a sound that sent a jolt of alarm through the castle. Queen Saba, her heart pounding, rushed to the balcony. Below, soldiers shouted warnings-a massive fire was consuming the shores. Panic surged within her as she feared for the Tower of the Blind and Mute. Without hesitation, she and General Haroon boarded her royal carriage, racing toward the shore of Rafayt.

The scene that greeted them was a nightmare made real. The Tower of the Blind and Mute had been reduced to charred ruins, still smoldering in the distance.

Queen Saba’s eyes scanned the devastation, finally landing on Behrouz. Clad in his sallet, his face was a mask of agony, his jaw shattered, blood streaming from his eyes. The sword he once wielded with unwavering strength now impaled him through the chest, its blade buried in the ground, his body fixed in a grim vigil facing the sea.

The sight struck Queen Saba like a dagger to the heart. Her eyes, once bright with determination, now reddened with a fierce mix of grief and vengeance, the weight of this loss pressing down on her soul.

Behind her, General Haroon, grasping the full gravity of their situation, broke the heavy silence with a voice steeped in somber resolve. “We need an ally.”