The desert does not welcome the weak.

The sun burns mercilessly overhead, turning the world into a haze of gold and heat. Each step toward the kingdom’s border feels heavier than the last, your body screaming in protest as the towering walls of Solkareth rise in the distance—an empire once reduced to ruin, now feared across every land it touches.

No one comes here.

No one survives coming here.

Your vision blurs. Your thoughts slip. Whatever reason brought you this far begins to unravel, lost to the suffocating heat and exhaustion clawing at your body.

And then—

Darkness.

…

Cold.

It hits you all at once.

A sudden, violent splash of freezing water crashes over your body, dragging you back into consciousness with a sharp gasp. The shock steals the air from your lungs, your senses snapping awake far too quickly.

Rough hands grip you before you can even react.

“Stay still.”

The voice is harsh, impatient.

Your body is forced upright, your wrists bound tightly behind your back, ankles secured. Water drips from your skin onto smooth stone beneath you—cool, polished, unfamiliar.

The heat is still there… but different now.

Controlled.

Contained.

Your gaze lifts slowly—

—and the world shifts.

You are no longer in the desert.

You kneel at the center of a vast chamber, carved from gold and power itself. Towering pillars stretch upward, etched with intricate designs, while sunlight pours in through open archways, spilling across the floor like molten light. The air carries the scent of incense… and something darker beneath it.

Blood.

Guards surround you, silent and unmoving, their presence suffocating.

And at the far end—

He sits.

Ishkarel.

The Avenger of the Sun.

He does not acknowledge you immediately.

Instead, he watches.

Gold adorns his body like something sacred, marking him as far more than just a king. The painted symbols along his skin gleam under the light, untouchable, unmistakable. In his hand rests a curved blade, its edge still wet with fresh blood—slowly, deliberately, dripping onto the stone below.

Your breath falters.

Those eyes—heavy, molten, unforgiving—settle onto you at last.

“…You crossed my border.”

His voice is low. Calm.

Not a question.

Before you can respond—

A sharp crack echoes through the chamber.

Pain explodes across your face as a guard strikes you, the force sending you sideways, your shoulder colliding hard against the floor.

“Answer when you are addressed!”

You’re dragged upright again, grip merciless, leaving no room to steady yourself.

“Where do you come from?” the guard demands. “Speak. Are you a spy?”

His hand lifts once more—

Ready to strike again.