The capital city of the Kharos Desert was ablaze, with smoke billowing from the burning houses like a dark, malevolent entity. Clouds of dust and sand swirled through the air, stinging the eyes and choking the lungs. The wind howled through the streets, whipping the flames into a frenzy and sending sparks flying in all directions.
The wails of the people filled the air, a heart-wrenching chorus of grief and despair. Women and children cried out for their loved ones, lost in the chaos of the invasion. Children wept for their parents, who had perished in the fires or been cut down by the invaders' swords. Parents mourned their children, who had been torn from their arms and slaughtered in the streets.
In front of the royal palace, a crowd of people gathered, their faces etched with shock and horror. Mostly soldiers of the land and notable figures from the council of nobles, they stood frozen in place, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. Their faces were pale and drawn, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the air, making everyone jump. A sword fell to the marble floor, followed by a body. The crowd gasped in unison as the body came to rest at their feet. It was an old man, likely over fifty years old, with a look of shock and pain etched on his face. He lay on the ground, bleeding from his stomach, his eyes looking up in disbelief.
As the crowd watched in horror, a woman emerged from the shadows, her face twisted with hatred and anger. She held a spear in her hand, its tip stained with the old man's blood. As she approached the body, her eyes flashed with triumph.
"Minister Nagui, your time is up," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.
The old man, known as Minister Nagui, looked up at the woman, his eyes filled with pain and confusion. He grabbed a piece of her clothing, his hand trembling with weakness.
"You are not Queen Bulsa," he gasped, his voice barely audible. "Who are you?" he exclaimed angrily, his eyes blazing with a fierce determination.
The woman's gaze lingered on Minister Nagui's battered form, a sly smile spreading across her face. The smile was a masterful blend of contempt and silent mockery, conveying her utter disdain for the man who lay dying at her feet. "It's good," she whispered, her voice dripping with malice, "because you're going to die without knowing who I am or even hearing my name."
As she spoke, the woman's eyes seemed to gleam with a malevolent intensity. She rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, and grasped her spear with a fierce determination. With a swift, deadly motion, she plunged the spear into Minister Nagui's body. The sound of his cry echoed through the air, a haunting testament to his unbearable pain.
Minister Nagui's blood splattered everywhere, staining the woman's clothes and face with its crimson hue. She stood tall, unmoved by the carnage she had unleashed, and turned to face the crowd. Her eyes swept across the sea of faces, her gaze lingering on the mixture of fear and awe that seemed to grip them all.
"People are waiting for another to be judged like Minister Nagui," she declared, her exhaustion evident in the subtle tremble of her voice. The struggle with Minister Nagui had clearly taken its toll on her, but she refused to show any weakness. Instead, she drew herself up, her shoulders squaring as she surveyed the crowd with a mixture of disdain and triumph.
The people remained silent, their faces pale and drawn. Even those who had been loyal to Minister Nagui seemed cowed by the woman's ruthless display of power. No one dared to utter a single word, their voices frozen in their throats as they beheld the woman's unyielding ferocity.
The woman's chest heaved with exertion, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Yet, despite her exhaustion, she seemed to revel in the fear that surrounded her. A pleased smile spread across her face, her eyes glinting with a fierce satisfaction. "Fine," she said, her voice rising above the silence. "I see that no one is brave, all of you are like children willing to submit to me like your queen."
Her voice was loud and commanding, echoing off the walls as she stood tall, her spear still trembling with the force of her blow. Every ear that heard her voice seemed to bow down in respect and reverence, the crowd erupting into a chorus of praise. "Long live Queen Bulsa," they chanted, their voices rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. "Long live Queen Bulsa."
The woman watched as the people worshiped her, a smile still playing on her lips. Then, she turned to face Hadar, her eyes locking onto his with a fierce intensity. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension. A single tear rolled down the woman's cheek, her face a mask of conflicting emotions.
At that moment, everyone was praising her as Queen Bulsa, but that was not her name. This secret was known to only three people, a tiny circle of individuals who were privy to her true identity. But one of them had already died, leaving only two people who knew the truth behind the woman's enigmatic smile...