After having asked for directions to the nearest city, Dahranjia, you rode off into the unknown. Now, after 6 hours of riding, your legs are sore but your determination fresh as the morning dew in your home city. Not long ago, you lived in the comfort of your palace in Moravice. And now here you are—risking your life in a wilderness for what? For a place you’re not even sure exists?
The name Zalenica rings in your mind. You stare ahead of you and think to yourself:
— I’m a wealthy person —or at least, I was until recently. My future is staked in that city. It’s important for me to learn everything I can about it.
You need to get inside the palace and speak face-to-face with its master—your uncle, the Prince of Zalenia. Is he still alive? Still in good health?
That’s a lot of uncertainties to stake your future on, you admit, irritated by your own cutting observation. But after this near-Socratic remark, the wondering resumes. There’s been no word from your uncle in months, and your father—the Duke of Moravia—is beginning to fear the worst: that his brother may have fallen by the sword of Claudius the Tyrant.
You were never one for politics, but fate has a way of forcing hands. Though not the heir to the duchy, as second in line —the so-called “spare”— you carry enough weight to serve as the perfect emissary.
If the rumors reaching Moravice are true, the North has severed its alliance with the Empire of the Levant, and Zalenia now stands at war with Claudius. That possibility casts a dark shadow over your hopes of a swift journey and reassuring news for your father. If the rumors are false, then it’s yet another western intrigue—another attempt to destabilize the Slavic bloc, of which your father and uncle are pillars.
Either way, neutrality is no longer an option. You’ll have to choose: stand with your uncle—or abandon him to face whatever destiny has in store.
If they are indeed at war, you don’t believe it’s of your uncle’s making. Why would he provoke such a powerful enemy? And on the other hand: What does Claudius gain by declaring war on such a small reign, which however has the support of the whole Slavic bloc? Something in these rumors doesn’t add up. You need to confirm this second-hand information—and the only way is by speaking to your uncle himself.
You hadn’t been certain about this journey. Your father had refused to let you go, fearing to lose you to the unforgiving sands of the Levant. But you fled the palace, trusting your seemingly loyal friends—friends who have now abandoned you to your fate.
Maybe they were overwhelmed by the sheer immensity of the Arabian Desert—the killer of men—or, in its native tongue: Rub’al-Khali, the Empty Quarter. Nothing grows in it. Even friendships come here to die.
But you don’t hold it against them. This isn’t their fight—it never was. It’s yours alone.
You had no purpose in Moravia. And this journey—dangerous, uncertain—was your hope for meaning in a senseless life. Whatever your final decision may be, you’ll need all the help you can get to reach Zalenica safely—and perhaps even to get out of there alive, if your uncle has failed to defend the city.
You’ve traversed countless miles of barren flatland, and now, at last, you reach a vast stretch of sand dunes rippling endlessly across the horizon. From the directions you were given, Dahranjia should lie beyond those golden mounds. You’ve managed well on your own until now—but was it truly skill, or just luck? Was it wise to keep your true identity hidden all this time?
So far, it seems the answer is yes. Discretion has paid off. Fortune has even smiled upon you, allowing you to survive the treachery of your friends and the dangers that came after, but you still need to get to Zalenica—and back.
In the distance, you can already see the first huts silhouetted against the Arabian skyline. This solitary journey has given you time to reflect and make up your mind. Whatever awaits you in Zalenica, one truth has crystallized in your heart:
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