It started with a resonating sound, then the disgusting smell of blood and excruciating screams followed, and the gongs of war started rumbling.

Amidst the chaotic nightmare of the battlefield, Raibod, the young prince, sprinted through the gruesome tableau. The air was thick with the nightmarish symphony of horrifying cries, clashing weapons, and agonizing screams that etched a heart-wrenching panic across his face. Uncontrollable panting accompanied his every step, a desperate attempt to escape the morbid dance unfolding around him. The battlefield was a macabre carnival – bodies dropping like leaves, riderless horses galloping madly, and blood-soaked spears sculpting grotesque tapestries on once-noble creatures.

The fates seemed to conspire against him as arrows rained from the heavens, forcing Raibod to navigate the chaos without purpose, surrounded by a sea of blood and fire. The delineation of the front lines evaporated, and rational thought abandoned him. Strangely, his voice was silenced, a secondary concern in the face of the overwhelming nightmare engulfing him.

In the midst of the surreal struggle for survival, Raibod's head pulsed with unimaginable pain. Only when hot crimson blood painted his eyelids did he realize the source – a wound on his forehead. In a desperate bid for urgency, he grabbed a sword from one of the fallen soldiers, intent on confronting the chaos head-on, only to be abruptly halted by the searing pain of a bayonet piercing his throat. Frozen, he succumbed to the numbing embrace of death. Everything turned into blinding crimson, and nothingness clawed into his grip ferociously. Simply put, it was the worst feeling that the universe could render an individual, even while unconscious!

Abruptly, Prince Raibod shot awake with a feverish cry, startling the two maids attending to him, washing his naked upper body with rosewater, so early in the morning. His room was the same spacious, luxurious haven dimly lit. The servants moved with practiced efficiency, erasing any remnants of the previous night's revelry. The head maid, a figure of composed authority, approached the disoriented prince, completely covered in a musk sweet.

The young man couldn’t grasp the calm reality at first, and his senses were all messed up, at the same time, his sharp mind brought him back in no time, considering it wasn’t the first time that he had become the victim of night terrors. That all too familiar nightmare, the awful scene war zone, right to the point that he tries to fight back, and finally his own demise with a crimson blow were all there. He must have seen this over and over by now, but getting used to it seemed impossible.

As Raibod grappled with reconciling the nightmare with reality, he rose from the bed, shrouded in a persimmon velvet cloak. The head maid, sensing his distress, offered reassurance, " Your majesty!" Raibod, still recovering from the nightmare, moved toward the window, guided by the attentive attendants.

Bathed in the soft morning light, he pushed aside the flamboyant curtains, revealing the palace's main garden in a flurry of activity. In an attempt to dispel the haunting images, Raibod dipped his hands into a bowl of water, splashing his face. With a deep breath, he dried himself with a towel, aiming to banish the lingering echoes of the horrendous dream. Why should he be having that ghastly dream in the first place?! It wasn’t like he had any interest in fighting or even inclined to partake in war eighter. He also had no intention of playing a role in any sort of political rivalry or succession struggles. It was absurd to even think that the fifth prince could possibly win the succession race against such formidable older brothers, so why even try?

A maid approached tentatively, "Um... Your majesty..." Her fearful words were cut short as the head maid intervened, speaking with confidence, "Your Highness, the Prime Minister has been waiting for you all morning. Two officers of the royal guard stand ready outside the royal chamber to escort you to his excellency if you so desire."

Ignoring the gravity of the situation, Raibod, still drenched in cold sweat, returned to the windows. With a swift motion, he cast aside the curtains, bellowing, "My breakfast!"

…

Seated upon a plush armchair adorning the balcony of his ministerial office, the prime minister observed the wisps of steam rising from his warm tea, strategically placed on the outdoor patio table. The ministerial balcony, nestled in the eastern facade of the royal palace, afforded a breathtaking panorama of the capital city below.

While the bustling vibrancy of the city remained elusive from this elevated perspective, the expanse of opulent residences, garden estates, towering roofs, and distant minarets testified to the affluence of the royal capital during the era of the Salar dynasty. However, this affluence did not extend limitlessly; beyond the verdant stretches of wealth lay a transition from grand buildings and estates to modest sheds, surrounded by Wheat fields. Although the golden color of the fields was alluring, the minister knew very well that beyond those grain fields, resided nothing but hardship and destitution.

Lost in contemplation, the prime minister's focus shifted when one of his trustee royal guards asked for him. The old man, waiting for his report, allowed it and an officer of distinction entered the minister's private balcony, offering a respectful gesture by placing a hand on his chest.

"Your Lordship! Prince Raibod seeks an audience with you," the officer announced.

Minister Abrsam acknowledged with a nod, signaling his crew to swiftly prepare the balcony for the prince's arrival. As they busied themselves, he indulged in his large pipe, displaying an insatiable appetite for its contents while gazing once more at the vast expanse of yellow fields.

Turning to his senior retainer with an air of determination, he commanded, "Escort the young prince to the balcony."

"Hah! Who do you think you are to summon me? Is this how you welcome a prince?" the furious young man retorted, shoving the retainer aside and entering the balcony unaccompanied. Two concerned royal guards followed closely behind. They were the ones that the prime minister had appointed to monitor the prince’s bedchamber last night. "I apologize, my lord! His Excellency is eager to see you," one of them explained.

The old minister greeted the irate prince with a nervous laugh, saying, "Come, Your Excellency!" He motioned to the crew and guards, and they withdrew, leaving the prince alone with him.

Bowing before the impassioned prince with a sardonic nod, the minister quipped, "Is His Excellency in good spirits this morning?”

There was no immediate response, and the silence was deafening as if the rascal was playing a trick on him. But the minister a vetrain in such arguments, was more mature and experienced to get caught in such a naïve trap. Remaining in his seat, he continued calmly: “Can I offer you something to drink your highness?! Which reminds me, a relative of mine from the seaside has presented our family with a fragrant tea as a memento if you'd be interested…"

"Don't interfere so much in my affairs!" the prince slammed the patio table in anger. "How long are you going to treat me like an ignorant child? What have you done with the girls? Come on, confess!"

The minister stroked his bushy beard, remarking, "Your Highness, if you wish to be treated as an adult, perhaps ceasing such childish behavior would be more appropriate."

The prince erupted, "It was those two guards, wasn't it? I’m sure of it! Those two are supposed to be on my side! And the audacity to betray me like that! I’ll show you! I'll publicly execute them for you to understand!"

The minister chuckled wryly, "Ah, Excellency! Those two are innocent, merely following my orders out of concern for you and your status. But if executing those unfortunate soldiers brings you joy, so be it, perhaps…"

The prince roared, "Abrsam!"

The prime minister, nonchalantly sipping his aromatic tea, remained indifferent, intensifying the prince's frustration. Raibod collapsed into a nearby chair as if unable to contain himself, but suddenly he burst into a howling laughter. The old fox, exclaiming in surprise, suddenly turned into a confused goat.

Leaning close to the minister, Raibod whispered with a malevolent grin, "Ah, Abrsam! Did you think I don't know what's going on in your head? You thought they were important to me? Oh, poor Abrsam!"

Shocked, the minister listened as the prince resumed his cruel remarks, "You wanted to provoke me, didn't you? You do anything to get a rise out of me, don’t you?"

"Haha... Hahaha... Hahahaha..."

The wicked laughter and soulless eyes of the young prince shattered the confident facade of the minister. "Ah, Poor Abrsam! Poor Abrsam! You thought you found something important to me! Poor Abrsam."

In despair, the old man rose and surrendered, "Enough, Your Highness!"

The ruthless prince, still amused, finally grew bored, asking, "Anyway, why did you want to see me?"

Clearing his throat, the prime minister responded, "It is a crucial matter that we have to discuss."

The prime minister and the arrogant prince, talking behind closed doors, started an intensive discussion while the fate of the Salar monarchs was hanging in the balance.