"Father," said a well-dressed boy, striding along a pathway in a breathtaking flora adorned with flowing water.

The garden was a marvel to behold, with lush pockets of greenery, vibrant blossoms, and meticulously crafted pavement made of perfectly fitted and polished stones. Small bodies of water interconnected through a network of streams, while statues, hewn from stone, dotted the landscape—representations of both men and women frozen in eternal grace.

In this oasis-like sanctuary, the scorching sun beamed its relentless rays upon a cloudless, azure sky. The boy quickened his pace, repeating his call to his father.

Wearing a beige robe with a broad shawl shielding his head from the potent sunlight, his features were sharp, devoid of any hair on his cheeks or under his nose. His flawless, light-brown skin seemed immaculate, but it was his brown eyes that held a captivating allure.

"Father!" the boy called out once more, capturing the attention of a mature adult walking with four other men along the same pavement, slightly ahead.

The man, donning a similar robe with a golden shawl akin to his son's, shared similar facial features. However, he sported a meticulously groomed beard and a black mustache. His eyes mirrored those of his son, with a subtle distinction—an indescribable intensity that made it clear he was not to be trifled with.

"What is it, Halim? Can't you see that I'm busy?" the man inquired, his face devoid of anger, instead betraying a hint of curiosity.

The other four stepped a bit away, giving the king space.

The first one was clean-shaven, though faint remnants of facial hair clung to the skin around his mouth and cheeks. A golden scarf wrapped around his head concealed his baldness, partially obscured by the hood of his robe. Completing his distinctive appearance was his hooked nose and an additional cloak.

The second one had brown skin and a hint of facial hair around his mouth, slightly longer on his chin. A golden tiara adorned his forehead, partially concealed beneath his white hood. Earrings dangled from each ear, while a golden shawl and chains graced his neck.

The third one was a handsome, slightly younger gentleman. Dressed not in a robe but in white pants and a matching shirt, he covered himself with a heavy cloak, accentuating his already broad shoulders. A turban adorned his head, while golden chains around his neck. A short beard and brown eyes completed his striking appearance.

The last one was more muscular and dressed in simpler attire. He wore a keffiyeh on his head, concealing his black hair. A short beard adorned his chin, and a silver chain hung around his neck.

"I've decided, Father. I wish to undergo Mubarazat Muqadasa. The sand festival is approaching, and there will be an opportunity for me. I am ready to prove myself, just like Alem," the boy asserted confidently.

"Alem trained very hard and was older than you," the father reminded him.

"I have been training as well. Mamun told me I wasn't ready last year and advised me to learn more. But this year, I am prepared. I won't disappoint you, Father!" Halim nodded emphatically, bolstering his words with conviction.

A heavy sigh escaped the father's lips, his gaze momentarily shifting to the four men accompanying him, patiently awaiting the continuation of their conversation. Then his eyes returned to his son.

"Ask Malik Soltani to assess your skills. I will speak with him later and make a decision then," he said, placing his hand on his son's head. "Give him your best, but should you fail, accept it with dignity. Remember, you are a prince, Halim."

"I won't disappoint you, Father," the boy declared, a broad smile illuminating his face. With that, he swiftly turned around and sprinted back the way he had come.

The man observed his son for a moment, his own smile fading as his countenance assumed a more solemn expression. He turned back to his companions, resuming their interrupted conversation.

Smenkhkare stood on one of the terraces of his royal palace, gazing down at the vast expanse of the sea and the bustling harbor below. From his elevated position, the people appeared minuscule, resembling tiny ants scurrying about their tasks. They worked with the efficiency and industriousness of ants, ferrying heavy cargo from merchant ships to the shore and loading goods destined for distant lands.

Despite the strong and raucous winds at such heights, Smenkhkare's keen ears picked up the distant sounds from below—the clamor of voices and noises. Amidst the cacophony, a metallic ringing caught his attention.

"My king," a voice suddenly reached him from behind, accompanied by the distinctive clanging of armor.

Smenkhkare turned around to find Malik Soltani, captain of the royal guards, kneeling before him. The soldier was garbed in his customary attire—an iron lamellar armor adorned with touches of dark blue leather, and a helmet with a matching fabric attached to it. At his side, he carried his regular saber, forsaking the ceremonial one.

"Malik... Please rise," the king requested, turning back to face the sea once more.

Resting his hands on the railing, Smenkhkare leaned forward slightly, relieving the weight from his weary legs. Although he tried to maintain his regal facade, an astute observer would notice the signs of fatigue etched on his face.

The soldier obeyed, stepping forward to stand beside the king.

"So, how did Halim do?" the king inquired, his expression betraying no emotion.

"He is a young warrior, lacking in experience, but his skills are of the highest caliber. Only a few in the entire kingdom can match him at his age," Malik reported. "Give me a few weeks, and he will be prepared for Mubarazat Muqadasa. He will make you proud, just as Alem did."

"Two sons who triumphed in their Mubarazat Muqadasa?" A smile graced Smenkhkare's face. "Excellent. Do whatever it takes to ready him. And arrange a suitable escort. I believe both Alem and Zaria would also wish to accompany him."

"All three accompanied Alem during his last Mubarazat Muqadasa. I suspected the same for Halim. I shall commence the preparations immediately," the soldier replied, bowing with a smile on his face.

"It's a shame Hallel cannot go," Smenkhkare sighed.

"You must keep positive thoughts, my king," Malik responded, his smile fading instantly. "Mamun will mend her mind. All you need to do is be patient. He is the wisest man in the kingdom, and he assures us that he has a solution for her condition. There is no need to worry."

"I trust him as well, but time passes, and she remains absent," the ruler sighed once more.

With a determined push off the railing, Smenkhkare strode back into the palace, his steps filled with purpose. The captain of the royal guards watched him for a moment before departing from the terrace to carry out the given orders.