The air was thinner as Rashid and his group climbed higher into the Atlas Mountains, the towering peaks casting long shadows over the land below. The journey had been arduous, but now, with the Eternal Flame only days away, Rashid's thoughts weighed heavier than the physical toll. He could feel the power of the Flame pulling at him, as though it was aware of his approach.
The closer they came to their destination, the more restless he became.
The path grew narrower and more treacherous as they ascended, and the mood within the group shifted. Tension crackled in the air. Rashid wasn't the only one who felt the mysterious energy of the Flame; his men, even the battle-hardened General Hassan, had grown wary.
By the time they reached the entrance to the sacred grounds of the Eternal Flame, they were met by a group of mystics dressed in ancient robes, their faces hidden beneath hoods. The air around them shimmered with an unspoken power, and their leader, a tall, gaunt man with piercing eyes, stepped forward.
"You seek the Eternal Flame," the mystic leader said in a voice that was both a whisper and a roar, reverberating through the stones of the mountainside. "Few have come this far, and fewer still have left unscathed."
Rashid dismounted and stepped forward, his gaze never leaving the mystic's eyes. "I am Prince Rashid Al-Fihri of Morocco. I seek the power of the Flame to restore my kingdom."
The mystic leader's eyes narrowed, as though peering into Rashid's very soul. "Power is never given freely, Prince Rashid. The Flame does not bend to the will of men. It is alive, with desires of its own. You must prove yourself worthy before it will grant you anything."
Rashid's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He had expected a challenge—though he hadn't anticipated just how dangerous it might be.
"What must I do?" he asked.
The mystic leader stepped aside, revealing a passage that led deeper into the mountain. "There are trials. Three tests that will determine if you are worthy of the Flame. Each will challenge a different aspect of your being: your heart, your mind, and your soul."
Rashid glanced at General Hassan, who gave him a firm nod of support. Then, without another word, Rashid stepped into the passageway, the weight of the mystic's words hanging over him.
The first chamber was dimly lit, the walls lined with ancient carvings that seemed to tell the story of warriors long since forgotten. At the center of the room stood a simple stone pedestal, and on it rested a single, glowing crystal.
As Rashid approached, the room began to shift around him. The air grew thick, and a sudden wave of emotion washed over him. The walls seemed to pulse with memories—his memories. In an instant, he was no longer in the chamber. He stood in a burning battlefield, the screams of his people echoing in his ears.
Before him lay Marrakesh, in flames. The Spanish and French armies marched through the streets, slaughtering his soldiers and citizens alike. Rashid felt his heart tighten with grief and fury, his hands trembling as he reached for his sword—but when he looked down, he realized he wasn't himself. He was Samuel once again, standing on the modern battlefield of his past life, reliving the night of his death.
He saw his comrades fall around him, felt the betrayal of the sniper's bullet as it pierced his chest. But this time, something was different. There, standing in the distance, was a figure cloaked in darkness. The figure's presence chilled him to the core, yet he was drawn to it.
"You cannot save them," a voice echoed around him, deep and haunting. "You are powerless in the face of fate."
Rashid struggled to move, his mind torn between his two lives. Was he Samuel, a man who had failed his comrades, or Rashid, the prince fighting to reclaim his kingdom?
"You must choose," the voice whispered. "Your past or your future."
In that moment, Rashid realized what the trial was asking of him. He couldn't allow himself to be shackled by the memories of his past life. To move forward, to reclaim his kingdom, he had to embrace who he was now.
"I am Rashid Al-Fihri," he whispered, the strength of his conviction growing. "I am the prince of Morocco, and I will save my people."
The vision around him shattered like glass, and he was back in the chamber, the crystal glowing softly before him. He reached out and took it, his heart steady, the weight of his past no longer burdening him.
The next chamber was starkly different—cold, silent, and oppressive. A massive stone door stood at the far end, but there were no visible mechanisms to open it. Instead, the walls were covered in symbols and riddles, ancient texts in a language Rashid couldn't immediately recognize.
He knelt beside the first set of carvings, his mind racing. The mystics had said this trial would test his mind, and it was clear that he needed to solve the riddles to unlock the door. But the symbols were foreign, unlike anything he had seen in either his current or past life.
Rashid's thoughts flickered back to his time as Samuel, recalling his studies of ancient languages and codes. The knowledge of cryptography from his modern life surged to the surface, and he quickly began piecing together the puzzle.
As he translated the symbols, he realized they were connected to the four elements—earth, air, fire, and water. Each element represented a different path, and only the correct sequence would open the door.
He thought carefully, applying the logic of his modern mind to the ancient riddle. The elements weren't just symbolic; they related to the natural order of creation and destruction. He remembered how fire could not exist without air, how water shaped the earth, and how each element influenced the other.
After what felt like hours, Rashid input the final sequence, and the door slowly began to grind open. He had passed the second test, proving that his modern knowledge and sharp intellect were just as valuable as the power of the Eternal Flame.
The final chamber was unlike the others. It was a vast, empty space, lit by a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. In the center of the room stood a mirror—a tall, ornate mirror that gleamed with an otherworldly light.
As Rashid approached, he saw his reflection—but it wasn't just his reflection. The image in the mirror shifted, showing him versions of himself at different stages of his life. Rashid as a boy, training with his father. Samuel, planning a military operation. Rashid, the fallen prince, watching Marrakesh burn.
Then, the reflection changed. Rashid saw a version of himself cloaked in darkness, seated on a throne of skulls, wielding unimaginable power. His eyes were cold, devoid of mercy, as he crushed his enemies beneath his feet.
The voice from his dreams returned, whispering in his ear. "This is the path you seek, Rashid. With the Eternal Flame, you will become invincible. But at what cost? Will you sacrifice your soul for power?"
Rashid stared at the reflection, his heart pounding. He had seen this future before—in his visions, in his nightmares. The Flame promised him strength, but it also threatened to consume him.
He clenched his fists, the weight of the decision bearing down on him. Power could save his people, but if he wasn't careful, it could also destroy everything he loved.
"I will not become that man," Rashid said softly, his voice trembling but resolute. "I will wield the Flame, but I will not lose myself to it."
The mirror rippled, and the dark reflection vanished, replaced by the image of Rashid standing tall, a king, but not a tyrant.
The room dissolved around him, and the mystics appeared once more.
"You have passed the trials," the mystic leader said, bowing slightly. "The Eternal Flame has judged you worthy."
Rashid stepped forward, feeling a warmth spread through his body as the power of the Flame surged into him. But he remembered the warnings. He would wield this power, but he would never allow it to control him.
"You have gained great power," the mystic leader continued, "but remember, Prince Rashid, power always comes with a price."
Rashid nodded, knowing that this was only the beginning. The journey back to Marrakesh would be perilous, and the true test of his strength had yet to come.