(Ismael's POV)
As Prince Rekh-het-sa remained skeptical, the tension escalated, reaching a breaking point. The palace, once filled with cosmic celebration, now echoed with the clashing of swords and the hurried movements of an unexpected conflict.
Realizing that the prince wasn't easily convinced, I scrambled to defend myself. With no sword of my own, I improvised, grabbing whatever was within reach—a piece of decorative armor, a ceremonial vase—anything that could serve as a makeshift shield against the gleaming blade of the prince.
"Your Highness, please! We mean no harm!" I pleaded, desperately trying to parry his strikes.
Cybele, witnessing the clash, interjected, "Prince, there's a misunderstanding! We're not here to threaten your palace. We just want to find our way back home."
