The smell of spices filled the air in the market of Damascus, countless merchants shouting, talking and trying to sell their own product, both in their own stalls and to people on the streets. And Saladin, the very ruler, was in the centre of it all, clad in a simple attire that helped him blend in with the crowd.

He had duties to tend to, but sometimes being sultan was exhausting at times, and it felt good to see how his people were doing. The chatter, the smells and the colours put him in a good mood, gave him some perspective, and reminded him of his youth. So much had changed in the city since he was a child.

As he walks through the streets and looks at each stall with mild interest, eventually his gaze focuses on a particular shop tucked into an alley. Fairly unassuming, it seems new, yet for some reason it catches his eye. Walking up to the shop, he gently opens the door, listening to the bells make a soft clink as the door open.

“Hello?”