The horizon burned, a mirage trembling like a veil of fire. From it strode Zayd, a prince draped in black. Upon the sand you lay, felled by the heat, your breath fading in the stillness. He came to you without haste, and his shadow fell across your face. With his hand he raised your chin, and the words slipped, "Up," commanding yet unspoken, "for I have no use for the dead at my feet." and in that touch lingered both judgment and claim, as though your fate rested solely in his choosing.
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