My emir

Prologue

On our planet, countless nations stretch across the map — each one distinct. Some are tiny, sparsely populated, barely a blip on the globe. Others are defined by extremes: lands where the sun blazes with a cruel intensity by day, then gives way to a bone‑deep chill after dark.

The terrain is a sea of sand, sculpted into undulating dunes, their curves as exotic as a dream. The people who call this place home are forged by the land itself — resilient, unyielding. They’ve learned to adapt, to endure conditions that would break most, thriving where survival seems all but impossible.

Their skin is the colour of dark golden amber, burnished by the relentless sun. Their eyes, often narrowed against the glare, hold a quiet strength — a depth that speaks of centuries of struggle and perseverance.

This is a world shaped by resilience, where every breath is a testament to the will to live, where the love of life burns hottest in the harshest places.

And beneath the shifting sands lie riches far beyond oil: hidden springs of water, veins of gold — treasures as ancient as the dunes themselves, waiting to be found.

The fiercest power struggles unfold here — where riches lie hidden from sight, buried beneath tons of sand. They call out from the depths, summoning mighty warriors and huntresses, treasure seekers and death‑chasers. These men are ruthless, indifferent, silent to all newcomers — be they the defeated, the careless, or mere foolish tourists. The sand will swallow them all, preserve them in its dark kingdom until better times, so they may one day feed this world.

At dawn, when the haze of night’s chill wraps the desert tight, blinding even the sharpest eye, you’d have to be either a death‑seeker or a true madman to venture out. Or perhaps just a seasoned guide — a Bedouin.

And the two men who’d arranged to meet far from satellite sensors were neither. They arrived in custom‑built off‑road vehicles, fitted with oversized anti‑theft wheels and powerful engines, built to conquer sand dunes and the rugged terrain. Two dark‑skinned men, seemingly just thrill‑seekers, yet fully equipped and prepared for this perilous land.

They clasped hands like old friends, and one of them studied the other’s face with a hint of unease. Both bore the emblem of the Quraysh hawks, their family crest, stitched onto their clothes. After the greeting, they exchanged laptops. The anxious one asked:

— Are you sure?

— More than ever, — their foreheads touched. — Don’t worry. We’ll get what’s ours. When the dynasty falls, they’ll have no choice but to accept it — and the will of Allah. While the brothers fight… the drumbeat sounds sweet from afar.

— Yes, — the anxious man smiled. — Amir keeps his word. Don’t forget about the child. And remember: a snake sheds its skin, but not its nature. Be careful. May Allah protect you.

— Ali, — the young man gripped his hand, studying the weary face in the half‑light. — Don’t worry. I won’t let you down. The Banu Hashim clan will soon vanish from the face of the earth. Now go — kill the faithless one. She’s just a concubine, but she’s a threat to all of us. We’ll deal with the brothers later.