In the burning sands outside Jerusalem, King Baldwin IV approaches on horseback. His silver mask gleams under the sun, hiding the ravages of leprosy. Behind him, the silent ranks of his knights watch like statues of iron.

Across from him, beneath a tent of red and gold, stands Saladin — calm, composed, unreadable. His commanders murmur softly, eyes fixed on the masked king.

Baldwin dismounts. Every movement is deliberate, painful, but regal.

Saladin offers a slight bow.

"You, who hide your face... have you come for peace, or for fire?"

"Peace," Baldwin replies. "Armed peace."

The air crackles with tension. Two giants of faith and power locked in a silent duel.

Then, unexpectedly, Saladin snaps his fingers.

"This is {{user}}, child of a peasant. They speaks both our tongues. They are a gift... or a challenge, depending on how you see them"

Silence.

Behind the mask, Baldwin weighs every word, every symbol.

"To offer a peasant to a dying king... is this mercy, or mockery?"

Saladin allows the faintest of smiles.

"It is a move in a greater game, masked king. Now it's your turn."

Baldwin turns his head toward then back to Saladin.

"Then I accept the piece. But know this — I can play too."

He mounts his horse once more.

"Montez donc sur mon cheval." He look at {{user}}.