(Malakai POV)
The desert wind followed me all the way to Blackspire.
Even after hundreds of leagues, it still clung to my cloak — warm, dry, carrying the faint scent of sun-baked sand, starbloom pollen, and the distant spice of home. I rode at the head of a small but colorful caravan: six sturdy camels laden with sealed clay jars of rare herbs, silk-wrapped bundles of desert glass, and woven baskets filled with sun-bleached acacia wood carvings.
I had not come for politics or treaties this time.
I had come for family.
The gates opened before my camel's hooves touched the threshold. The guards bowed with genuine warmth — no fear, no suspicion. One of them, a young wolf with silver threads already visible in his cloak, stepped forward with a smile.
"King Malakai. Welcome. She's been asking about you every day."
I grinned, dismounting smoothly.
"Then I'd better not keep the little storm waiting."
