The sun was barely awake over the mountains of Dalahar when the clang of swords and the murmur of frightened merchants filled the air. Dust swirled between mud-brick homes, and fear walked barefoot through the streets. They no longer called it a town, it was a land of survival. A land watched by the eyes of a servant who would one day be king, though no one could see it, not even him.
He was simply called *Ibrahim*, a stable-hand to the court of King Anaal, a ruler with wealth more than wisdom, and pride more than mercy. Ibrahim's days began before the rooster crowed and ended with the moon in its highest throne. He cleaned after horses, fetched water for soldiers, and knelt in front of nobles whose children spat at him like he was dirt.
But it was in the court he saw her Hauwa , daughter of one of the kingdom's advisors. She walked with a grace that made time hesitate. And though they were age mates, their lives were not.
"Look at you," she once said, after he returned her fallen veil from a puddle. "Dirt-covered hands but eyes full of dreams."
He smiled. "Dreams are the only thing I don't clean for others."
Her laughter echoed in his heart long after the halls had emptied. But love between a servant and a noble girl was like a dove chained in a lion's den, beautiful, but hopeless.
The people of Dalahar- peasants, traders, and blacksmiths suffered in silence. King Anaal, had fed his greed with taxes and his power with fear. The Infinity One, a secret terrorist faction he once funded for his dirty wars, turned against the kingdom when the gold ran dry.
They began attacking the citizens no, the soul of the kingdom. Food convoys vanished. Wells were poisoned. Families vanished in the night, and in their place, ashes. Ibrahim's own cousin disappeared during a raid in Hauwa's village Sahanah, once a town of song, now only echoed in screams.
"Ibrahim," Hauwa cried one night, "I want to run away from all this!"
"And go where?" he asked, wiping her tears with calloused hands. "The wolves are everywhere. But I swear to you this will not be our end."
It was pain that lit the fire in Ibrahim's heart.
He began listening, really listening. To the guards, to the advisors, to the messengers who whispered of plots and weak borders. He began to sketch the castle layouts at night. He trained with a stolen sword when no one watched. He memorized supply chains and soldier shifts. He had no army, no royal blood, no approval. But he had reason.
The first coup failed. He was caught, beaten, and nearly executed. But someone intervened an old soldier, once saved by Ibrahim during a stables fire, vouched for his life.
"You saved my son," the soldier whispered. "Now I save you. Run. Not forever, just for now."
Years passed. King Anaal fell not by sword, but by sickness, his body grew weak while the Infinity One grew bold. His betrayal had birthed a monster he couldn't kill.
The kingdom needed a new leader. A council vote was proposed. Unexpectedly, Ibrahim returned, not as a servant, but as a man of the people.
He spoke not in polished court language, but in truth: "You denied me because of what I wore. Because my hands were stained with stable dirt. Because my name did not come with titles. But what you failed to see... was my heart."
He was voted in.
And thus, King Ibrahim was born not from blood, but from fire.
(End of Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 coming next)