That morning, the sky above Iskhalin was dark, covered by thick clouds that signaled a storm on its way. However, a much greater storm had already arrived at the Iskhalin palace, following the arrival of an unexpected package.
Something small, contained in a wooden box wrapped in red cloth, seemed ordinary to those who did not recognize it. But for the high officials of Iskhalin, this package brought a threat far greater than they could imagine. A box filled with insult, a symbol that tested their pride, and for King Sharrfan, a challenge that could not be ignored.
As the servant carefully opened the package, his eyes widened at the contents wrapped in cloth. A finger, neatly wrapped, with a golden ring encircling its tip, seemed to send a very clear message.
Without a word, the servant carried it to the throne room, where King Sharrfan sat upon his throne. The room was filled with silence, except for the hurried footsteps. King Sharrfan stared at the object with eyes that began to show inner turmoil.
Before him, the royal officials, including Zahill, the cunning advisor, stood waiting for his reaction. Zahill, with a faint almost imperceptible smile, observed every movement of the king. He knew that once Sharrfan reacted, everything would go according to his plan.
Finally, King Sharrfan took the finger roughly. His eyes widened, and his heart filled with hatred. "What is this?!" His loud voice echoed in the room.
He held the finger tightly, as if wanting to crush it. "What do they think of us? Of me? Of my child?"
Zahill, the cunning advisor, standing not far from him, knew this was the moment to provoke further with words that would stir the king's anger.
With a voice full of tone, Zahill spoke slowly, "King Sharrfan, this is not just an insult to Reizha; it is an insult to our entire kingdom. They dared to treat us like this. They think we are nothing more than a heap of trash. They want us to know that they feel superior."
King Sharrfan clenched the finger tighter, until its bones nearly cracked. His heart was filled with a rage that could not be contained. Reizha, his manipulative daughter who spread lies about those she disliked, had led him to even greater pain. "My daughter… Reizha… they treat you like this?" He reflected in silence, his voice silenced by the growing fury inside him.
"This is an insult, King," Zahill continued, his eyes shining with calculation. "There is nothing lower than this treatment. This is proof that they think we are weak, that they do not respect us. And it also shows that they are not a civilized people. If we do not act, they will become bolder. This is the time to show them who we really are."
King Sharrfan gazed at Zahill with a look of hesitation. However, those words sank into him, burning away any rational thoughts he once had.
"We cannot let them insult us like this. We must act, Zahill. Eirindale must feel the proper revenge. My daughter's finger was cut like this. Even though she is an arrogant princess, she is still human, she is my daughter. They have insulted our royal family. We will give them a lesson they will never forget. I swear!"
Zahill smiled inwardly, though his face remained calm. This was the moment he had carefully planned. The emotional and anger-driven King Sharrfan was the perfect tool to carry out the grand war plan.
Zahill knew that once the Iskhalin army set out, everything in their path would be destroyed. He also knew that even though the king planned to join the battle, Zahill would remain in the palace. He didn't want a victory on the battlefield; he wanted control over a far stronger Iskhalin while Sharrfan was away.
King Sharrfan immediately gathered his army. In no time, the decision was made. A force of 3,000 elite soldiers, mostly trained footmen, was prepared to march towards Eirindale. Meanwhile, another 1,000 soldiers would stay behind to guard the Iskhalin kingdom, watching for any other potential threats that might arise.
**
Internal Conflict within Iskhalin
Although the decision to attack Eirindale had been made, tension within the kingdom did not fade. Behind the spirit of the soldiers led by Sharrfan, there were many silent voices—doubts growing in their hearts, though none dared to speak openly in front of the king.
Among the royal officials, some had begun to sense that Iskhalin, a kingdom long preserved with care, might now be destroying itself through reckless decisions.
Two veteran soldiers who had served the kingdom for many years, Shazwan and Razak, stood in the shadow of the great hall, exchanging anxious glances. Shazwan, a warrior with over two decades of battle experience, shook his head, reminding himself that this was not the war they had hoped for.
"Are we truly ready for this?" Shazwan asked in a quiet voice, his tone trembling though he tried to stay calm. "Sharrfan acts out of anger, not good reason. We all know how his fury clouds his judgment. And we are the ones who will pay the price."
Razak, younger but no less seasoned, looked up at the darkening sky, the weather mirroring their unease. "It's not easy, Shazwan," he replied carefully. "But what choice do we have? Sharrfan is king. His command cannot be refused."
Shazwan's voice became more hoarse, burdened with years of loyalty now strained by doubt. "It's not about refusing. It's about what's right. What we're about to do could destroy us. We don't even know how Eirindale will respond. Are we truly prepared for a war that might last for years?"
The two fell silent, but their worries lingered. There were others who shared the same quiet doubts, yet none were brave enough to speak them aloud. Within the ranks, a sense of unease was spreading.
Some began to wonder—were they truly fighting for the glory of the kingdom, or for the ambitions of a king blinded by grief and pride?
Back in the palace, other senior officials also felt the growing uncertainty. In one of the war chambers, a few of them spoke in hushed voices, cautious not to be overheard. "Are we truly sure about this plan?" one officer asked, his eyes staring out the tall window, as if seeking answers in the grey clouds.
Zahill, the cunning advisor who had long manipulated Sharrfan's decisions, sensed the shift in mood. Though the order had been given, cracks were beginning to show in the kingdom's unity.
He understood this was a critical moment. If doubt continued to spread, all he had carefully built might collapse. So, Zahill moved quickly to secure his grip, approaching several key officers and speaking words filled with promise.
"Trust me," he said with a soft, calculated smile. "What we are doing is for the future of Iskhalin. This is our moment to show the world our strength. We will prove we are not a kingdom to be mocked. This war will define who we are."
But despite Zahill's words, the tension remained. Some of them knew in their hearts that they were standing at a dangerous crossroad—and they could not predict what awaited them ahead. This decision could raise Iskhalin to new heights, or pull it into a darkness from which it might never return.
**
Meanwhile, in Eirindale, Azfaran and Maeron were preparing for what was to come. Azfaran, always calm and wise, could feel the tension in the air. He knew that this battle was not just a physical test, but also a test of strength of mind and heart. Every decision made would determine the fate of their kingdom.
Maeron approached Azfaran, observing his calm expression, but behind his eyes was a seriousness that ran deep. "We can't let this pass," Maeron said with a slightly trembling voice. "Sharrfan will make a big move. We have to be ready."
Azfaran nodded slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "We have to be ready for anything. We don't know how many will come. But we must fight with everything we have. We will stand, Maeron. We will stand."
In the unseen battlefield, behind the increasingly prepared defenses, both sides were ready to face the storm that had come—the storm that could either destroy them or raise them higher than ever before.
War was not just about weapons, but about the strength of the heart, about resilience in the face of every blow.
Back to, Iskhalin, Zahill could only smile silently. He knew that this chaos was the first step towards his mastery of Iskhalin. He did not join the three thousand soldiers of Sharrfan marching to Eirindale. He argued that when the kingdom was left behind, someone in command was needed to lead in the king's absence.
"King Sharrfan, we mustn't be hasty. We can show our power to Eirindale by attacking them with great force. But don't forget about the kingdom's security," Zahill said. "Allow me to stay here and guard the security of Iskhalin with the other 1,000 soldiers."
Sharrfan, in an fury mode with blood boiling, barely paid attention to Zahill's words. "It's up to you. What matters to me right now is teaching Eirindale a lesson in manners when they oppose me. I will leave with 3,000 soldiers and burn the young kingdom of Eirindale to the ground!"
The preparations didn't take long. The next morning, three thousand soldiers from Iskhalin set off for Eirindale. Led directly by Sharrfan, the king was driven by anger and manipulated by his advisor.
The army, led by Sharrfan himself, moved with burning determination. Their footsteps felt like an earthquake, the ground trembling under the power they carried. This decision was not just about war.
For Sharrfan, this was a war that would change everything. If they won, they would carve Iskhalin's name to the peak of glory. But if they lost, everything they had fought for would be destroyed in an instant.