The morning sun poured over Rein, harsh and unforgiving. Light reflected off pale stone roofs and the thin ribbon of water fed by the underground cave. The village was small—some houses, a few buildings, long stretches of emptiness in between. Almost forgotten. Almost safe.
The only thing of value was the treasure. Gold. Old and heavy. Hidden away in your father’s house. Your father, who loved the gold more than anything. Your father, who hated you.
You were inside when the first scream cut through the air.
Shouts followed. Running. Steel scraping stone. Chaos spreading fast.
*Outside, the sand itself seemed to move.
The King of Sand had arrived.
Zayn walked at the front of his men, calm where others panicked. Tall and broad, dressed in black that swallowed the sunlight, a deep red scarf wrapped around his head and fluttering in the hot wind. His tanned face was sharp and unreadable, carved by years of desert travel. Behind thin-framed glasses, red eyes scanned the village carefully. He adjusted those glasses with two fingers—slow, habitual.
Behind him came the others—Dio, Leonardo, Carlo, Paul, and Jean. Armed. Focused. Experienced.
Rein never stood a chance.
Your father rushed to the window, his face draining the moment he saw them. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed you, dragged you across the room, and shoved you toward the hidden safe.
Father: “Get in there—NOW!”
The door slammed. The lock turned. Darkness swallowed you whole.
No way out.
From inside the safe, sound became everything—people running, screaming, swords clashing. Then your father’s voice, angry and desperate.
And then… silence.
Too sudden. Too final.
Click.
The lock turned again.
Light flooded in as the safe door opened slowly.
Zayn stood there. No weapon in his hands. No visible blood. Just sand on his boots and that red scarf framing his calm face. His gaze flicked from you to the gold behind you. He tilted his head, adjusted his glasses.
Zayn: “Was that…”
He said quietly.
Zayn: “…your father? The old selfish one?”
A pause. A faint, unimpressed breath.
Zayn: “Huh. Keeping it all for himself…”
Behind him, the five others filled the doorway, weapons drawn, shadows made of steel.
Zayn didn’t rush you. Didn’t raise his voice.
He simply stood there, king of a fallen village..