"Although a King inherits the right to sit on the throne…they must first prove that they are worthy to rule the nation…"
"...An heir to the throne must become like his father and ensure that his legacy lives on…"
"...A generation must become an eternity and that eternity's past shall shape its future…"
"...A King owns all, and all that he owns is a slave to his will. And if his slave violates the command of his word, they shall be punished, delivered to the depths of hell…never to return…"
"...Once you become the sovereign above all…everything becomes yours. Nothing becomes impossible and consequences do not exist…for you have the power to control the outcome of your actions."
Prince Ibraheem took a deep breath and held it in for a while. He closed his eyes as the words of his father echoed in his head. Despite the outrageous cries and screeching fire that surrounded the broken hut, Ibraheem remained unmoved.
It was not until the weeping cries of a frail woman began and never seemed to stop. Ibraheem huffed, groaning as he tilted his head back.
"P–please. Let me go," the woman quietly pleaded as blood curdled from her mouth. She lay flat on the floor, her face disfigured and bloodied, her legs left exposed, and her clothes revealing more skin than they protected.
Ibraheem lightly shook his head.
"We–We haven't done anything to–to deserve—" She tried to continue but Ibraheem began slowly walking towards her, a strange sense of anguish on his face. Though his face suggested regret, Ibraheem's decisiveness told a different story. Each step shook the woman, urging her to pull herself up and run — something she couldn't quite do. It was pointless. After all, she was only a human, and he was a god in the flesh.
She screamed as he drew closer, clasping her eyes shut, wildly shaking her head. There wasn't anything else she could do. She knew she was going to die. She had to.
Ibraheem finally reached her, towering above her vulnerable body. With a glaring gaze, Ibraheem raised his sword, stared directly into the woman's eyes and said nothing. Remorse didn't fill his eyes. Nor did sorrow. Nor did anything. Except for duty.
CRASH!
"Sire! More are attacking from the rear. We need you to turn the tide of this battle. Now," a soldier wearing silver-plated armour burst into the room, knocking down what was left of the wooden door.
Angered, Ibraheem turned his attention to the soldier.
"What! How?! I thought we'd finished all of them off!"
The soldier panicked, desperate to return to battle but equally wise enough to think of a response fit to be spoken to the king. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head as he faced the ground. "Sire…without you, our siege of this town might…" he stuttered, afraid to continue, "our siege of this town might fail."
Ibraheem howled, slicing the floor below him in a moment of rage. "Insolent fools!"
The soldier's eyes widened and watered. He had now stood up straight, rigid as stone.
"Go," Ibraheem exclaimed, "I'll be there shortly. Just give me a moment. Before she can pass on my lineage, I must get rid of—" Ibraheem worriedly gasped as he turned to face the woman once again. Only she was no longer on the floor, in the hut, in fact.
"What! Where did she go! We can't let her get away!"
"But–but sire! If you don't act now, we'll have to go back to the Palace and tell your father about how many of his soldiers we lost because his son–" Ibraheem shot a terrifying look at the guard, forcing him to gulp nervously instead of finishing his sentence.
He glanced back at the corner of the hut, noticed another door swung open, gritted his teeth, and decided to follow the guard. Disappointing his father was something he knew he couldn't do.
*****
The woman, free from the shackles of Ibraheem, dashed across the fiery grounds of what she once called home, clutching what was left of her clothes tightly to her body. She never looked back. Even when she heard the clashing of swords and the cries of men whom she could only assume to be dear friends, she continued forward without a second thought.
"Hey, over here," she heard from a distance. Only then did she muster the courage to look up. From what she could make out through the blurred vision of her tears, a group of four or five sat in a carriage pulled by two horses, covered by hoods and far from the danger.
She raced toward the carriage, reaching it despite the pain in her legs bordering on unbearable. Her cries had stopped, but the traumatised look on her face didn't change.
"You're safe now. We're going to get out of here…together."