The palace walls rose like mountains sculpted from eternity itself. No ordinary structure could compare.
Though formed from sand, they bore the solidity of ancient stone—compressed, enchanted, and forged by generations of Sanarian sand-mages.
Each towering pillar shimmered with a hue drawn from the kingdom's sprawling dunes: gold like the midday sun, white like bleached bone, blue like starlit nights, pink like the dawn horizon, silver like moonlit dust, pale ochre, deep brown… and the newest addition—crimson.
The red sand.
A miracle of the desert.
The treasure that had transformed the fortunes of Lola and her people, granting them unprecedented purchasing power across kingdoms. It had become their strongest bargaining tool, traded fiercely for gold, resources, military supplies, and rare medicines. The elite hoarded it. Merchants worshipped it. Kings envied it.
And its discovery had a single origin.
Naze—the ever-stalwart general, dependable to the point of stubbornness, quiet in his brilliance. A man who spoke only when needed, yet whose words carried weight like falling boulders. Even the harshest critics, the bitterest elders, and the most cynical warriors had been forced into reluctant respect the moment he presented the first shimmering vial of it.
That red sand had changed everything.
And today, as Lola walked beneath the towering structures built from sands of every color, every grain felt like a reminder of how far her people had come—and how far they still had to go.
The roads leading to the palace were overflowing with citizens. They lined every corner, every balcony, every rooftop. Thousands of eyes followed Empress Lola and her procession as though watching beings descended from another realm—giants of fate whose steps shook the dunes.
Some of the beings among the crowd sent to entertain the guests, weren't even human. They were Sand constructs—humanoid figures crafted from animated desert grains—moved with lifelike fluidity.
Their surfaces glowed faintly under the sun, shaped by the sorcery of the king's artisans. A few performed dances with swirling limbs that dissolved and reformed, sending ripples of gasps across the onlookers.
Relia Amia nudged Lola and pointed discreetly at one particularly enthusiastic sand-dancer whose torso kept spinning while its head bowed repeatedly in greeting. Lola held back a laugh, pressing a hand to her lips. Even the generals, stoic as carved monoliths, flicked their gazes at the spectacles—cataloguing every detail, every potential advantage.
But beneath the awe and ceremony, tension simmered like heat beneath the dunes.
As they walked, Relia Amia drifted a little closer to Lola, her steps careful, purposeful. Her voice, when it came, was small—almost swallowed by the drums, the murmurs, and the chants echoing through the palace corridors.
"My Empress," she whispered, "we've been friends… and family… for years. Please don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way. But I feel I must speak."
Lola slowed slightly, instinctively turning her head. Relia Amia never spoke like this unless something truly heavy sat on her chest.
"What is it?" Lola asked quietly. "I haven't seen you this serious since you begged to take that mission to impress my late husband. Is something wrong? Is someone in danger?"
Relia Amia swallowed, her throat tightening.
"It's about the prince."
Lola's heartbeat stumbled. "Josh? What about him?"
Relia Amia hesitated so long that Lola felt her stomach twist.
"When he speaks to me…" she began, her voice quivering, "when he looks at me, when he teases me… he reminds me of the late emperor. Too much. His mannerisms, his tone, his confidence… even the way he says my name."
Lola blinked, stunned. Heat crept up her neck.
Relia's next words were barely a breath.
"My heart flutters, Lola. I know it is wrong. I know it is shameful. But I can't explain it. It feels like he's the same man reborn… and every time he comes near me, I feel like I'm unable to bear it— the relentless thumping of my heart. I feel like I'm going crazy..."
Lola stopped breathing for a moment. Of all the problems she had anticipated—treachery, politics, manipulation—this had never even crossed her mind.
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and steadied her voice.
"We'll speak on this after we return," she said softly but firmly. "Here and now, we focus on the mission. Whatever this is… it will wait until we deal with the king."
Relia Amia lowered her head immediately.
"Yes, my Empress."
They continued onward, the drums of Sanaria pounding like an omen as the palace gates loomed ahead—where King Sinnabad waited, smiling with illusions of destiny.
Where fate, misunderstanding, desire, and danger were seconds from colliding.
As soon as Lola got to a huge door made of heartwood, a rare and expensive wood said to never rot. It's surfaced gleamed in the light like a polished marble.
Beyond the door frame, stood King Sinnabad whose mouth couldn't stop his crazy chuckle.
As soon as Lola reached the enormous door, she felt its presence before she touched it. Carved from heartwood—an impossibly rare timber said to outlive entire dynasties—the surface gleamed under the torchlight like polished marble. Intricate runes curled across its frame, humming with old enchantments meant to deter decay, treachery, and uninvited entry.
Two servants clad in flowing desert silks stepped forward, bowing deeply before pulling the monumental door open. The hinges moved without a sound—too smooth, almost eerie, a testament to the craftsmanship of the Sand Kingdom.
Lola stepped through.
Inside, at the far end of the hall, King Sinnabad stood waiting. His grin was already stretched too wide, his shoulders shaking with an unrestrained chuckle that carried across the chamber like the rasp of dry sand on stone.
"Queen Lola," he said, voice oily with excitement, "lovely to meet you."
He strutted forward, closing the distance with a speed that felt inappropriate for a royal greeting. He leaned in—too close—attempting a half-embrace and a side kiss meant to seem diplomatic.
But the gazes on him were sharp enough to cut.
Josh's expression darkened, his eyes like still water hiding an undertow strong enough to drown a kingdom. His small hands clenched at his sides, but the true danger radiated from his aura—subtle, cold, ancient.
Naze's reaction was less subtle.
The blind swordsman did not move, yet somehow managed to look like he might, at any moment, cross the hall and tear the king's head clean off. The muscles in his jaw tightened. Even without sight, he sensed the king's intentions as clearly as one sensed a stench.
But he held himself back.
Just barely.
Sinnabad didn't notice—or pretended not to.
"Please, have a seat," King Sinnabad offered, gesturing to a cushioned throne-like chair prepared for her.
Lola smiled gracefully, the kind of smile she mastered long ago—the smile of a woman who ruled and knew it. She sat not like a guest, nor a bride-to-be, but like a sovereign entering a territory she already owned.
Her posture was flawless. Regal. Commanding.
And beside her, Josh stood with a serene, unreadable expression…
…though every single general present sensed the storm tightening behind his gaze.