Amid the Era of the Gods, a sacred kingdom emerged from the mists of war and chaos. Located on the border between two perpetually warring nations, Wahman Yast rose as an ethereal vision—a land of peace and prosperity amid turmoil. The most surprising aspect was not just its sudden appearance but the fact that, unlike other realms of that divine age, it had not been blessed, cursed, or shaped by the hands of any god. It was a divine anomaly, a mystery that both fascinated and unsettled the hearts of mortals and immortals alike.
Travelers who reached the gates of Wahman Yast spoke of wonders that seemed to have sprung from fairy tales or mythologies. The kingdom's walls gleamed in pure white, reflecting sunlight with an eternal brilliance. Towering structures with shimmering glass windows rose majestically, their surfaces capturing the golden glow of the first morning rays.
The palaces, with architecture that defied the infrastructure of that age, were adorned with fine gold details, while lush gardens thrived with plants and flowers that seemed drawn from the most vivid dreams. In Wahman Yast, nature and human ingenuity coexisted in harmony, challenging the logic of the outside world.
At the heart of this kingdom, within the sacred walls of the royal castle, a gathering of great importance was about to commence.
Inside the council chamber—a vast hall whose walls were adorned with tapestries narrating the history of the realm—several lords were assembled around an imposing marble table. The room was illuminated by silver chandeliers, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the faces of those present. The sound of discussions and debates echoed through the hall, a symphony of voices reflecting the complexity and diversity of the royal council.
Seated at the head of the table was the King of Wahman Yast, a man whose presence commanded respect and authority. At forty years old, his appearance belied his true age. Tall and robust, standing 1.91 meters, his physique was a testament to his strength and vitality, despite the marks of time on his face. His gray-streaked beard and hair—an elegant blend of silver and black—lent him an air of wisdom and experience, while the deep shadows under his eyes hinted at sleepless nights filled with worry and contemplation. He wore a royal mantle of white and silver, adorned with golden details symbolizing the purity and wealth of his kingdom.
This was King Sirius.
By his side, in striking contrast, stood a young woman of stunning beauty. Around twenty years old, her tanned skin glowed under the candlelight, and her long, golden, curly hair cascaded down to her waist. Her eyes, a rare yellow-green reminiscent of the finest emeralds, surveyed the room with a calm curiosity and wisdom beyond her years. Clad in the attire of an Arabian belly dancer, she moved with a grace that mesmerized everyone around her. Her presence beside the king was a mystery to many, but her influence and importance were undeniable.
The lords, men of varying ages and appearances, represented the kingdom's different clans and families. Their voices rose in debates over governance, military strategies, and internal policies. The eldest among them, Lord Tauron—a veteran of many battles—stood and struck the table with his hand to demand attention.
"Your Majesty, we must address the growing threat at our borders. Neighboring nations are uneasy with our growth and prosperity. We must strengthen our defenses and increase patrols," said Tauron, his firm voice resonating through the hall.
The king nodded slowly, his tired but sharp eyes weighing every word. Before he could respond, a soft, melodic voice broke the air.
"Lord Tauron, with all due respect, focusing solely on defense may further alienate our neighbors. Perhaps we should consider strategic alliances to foster peace and cooperation," suggested the young woman beside the king, her voice carrying an unexpected wisdom.
The lords murmured among themselves, considering her words. The king, a faint smile tugging at his lips, finally spoke.
"Roxanne is right. Strength is important, but diplomacy can offer solutions that the sword cannot. We must balance our actions, fortifying our defenses while seeking allies. Wahman Yast must stand as a symbol of peace and power, not of domination and fear like the barbaric kingdoms that surround us," he declared, his voice resounding with authority.
The lords nodded, some reluctantly, others with evident agreement. The meeting continued, filled with heated discussions and proposals being analyzed. The future of Wahman Yast—this sacred kingdom born out of nowhere—was being shaped not just by the strength of its leaders but also by the wisdom and unity of its people.
As the meeting progressed, the king observed Roxanne with admiration. Her presence by his side was not merely ornamental; she was his most trusted advisor, a source of insight and wisdom that complemented his leadership. Together, they guided Wahman Yast through the approaching storms, keeping alive the dream of a realm where peace and prosperity reigned supreme.
Thus, amid the discussions and strategies, Wahman Yast continued to shine as a beacon of hope and mystery—a sacred enigma in a world shaped by the whims of the gods.
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Shortly after the meeting, the king could be found seated in the chamber, the lords having departed, leaving only him and Roxanne.
The king stared at the map on the table, his gaze unwavering.
Beside him, Roxanne rolled her eyes as she walked lightly toward him. What might have been considered an act punishable by death for others, she did with ease—sitting atop the king's map, crossing her legs and folding her arms beneath her ample chest.
Her thin, wide smile made it clear she intended to annoy her king.
The said king only sighed before raising his eyes to his advisor.
"What do you want, Rox? If it's a raise, I can't give you one right now," he said, subtle humor lacing his deep voice.
Her response was a huff before she extended her hand to caress his face, only to swiftly grab his collar and pull him closer. Using her free hand, she gently smoothed his hair.
"You need to rest, my dear! This will only wear you out. Your Majesty, even your wife Quinn and Lady Quinn agree you should take it easy~ You need to relax, my dear king~" she teased, her words punctuated by her fingers caressing his face, drawing their faces closer with every word.
Before their faces could meet, the king—a middle-aged but strong man—grabbed her by the waist, lifting her effortlessly and settling her onto his lap. With one hand holding her securely, he adjusted the map with his other, his eyes fixed on it while his hand absentmindedly caressed her waist.
"Don't worry about me, Rox. Besides, my wife has our daughter to keep her company, and Quinn is currently on a mission. They can take care of themselves. Our current situation is too precarious for me to lose focus," he explained calmly.
The woman in his lap merely huffed before relaxing and leaning back against his broad chest, speaking once more.
"You know, for someone with such a loving harem, you certainly underestimate your admirers, my king."
The king choked on his breath, quickly looking at Roxanne with wide eyes.
"I DO NOT HAVE A HAREM!"
Roxanne raised an eyebrow, laughing into her hand before responding.
"Really, my king? Are you that dense?"
Her laughter echoed through the chamber.
Embarrassed, the king rolled his eyes and returned his focus to the map.
After some time, as her laughter subsided, Roxanne spoke again, her melodic voice now carrying a serious tone.
"You do realize that the gods will come for this kingdom, don't you? A prosperous and rich realm like this, without a patron deity, will draw them in like vultures."
"Let them try... I will keep my promise. No god will lay their hands on my kingdom... none!"
The king's voice carried finality as a glow appeared in his eyes, a faint white aura enveloping his body.
This was the king's blessing—a power that allowed him to defy the gods.