It was nightfall when Abu Bakr arrived in the kingdom, and the sight of it brought him a comfort that no other city could. It felt as though he were returning to an embrace after a long separation. The news of his arrival created a stir, far more than the caravan itself had. An entourage had gathered from the palace, waiting for him the moment he entered the walls of the distant kingdom. At the front of the group stood Moses, looking pale, as if he hadn't eaten or slept for many days. These signs on Moses' face confirmed the news Abu Bakr had heard on his way, and his heartbeat began to quicken. He clung to the hope that the news was false or perhaps a temporary illness, something that would be treated by the best doctors.
But as he saw the scene before him, the last remnants of hope vanished. They fell silent and exchanged embraces rather than words, then headed toward the palace. Upon reaching the massive doors, Abu Bakr rushed through the corridors until he stood before his father's room. He paused for a moment to gather his strength before deciding to enter. Inside, Asmahan sat near the bed, holding her father's palm with one hand and the back of his hand with the other. When she saw Abu Bakr, she quickly stood, tears filling her eyes but not yet falling.
Abu Bakr took a few steps forward until he saw the horrifying sight—his father, looking like a different man. The bones of his face were so prominent they almost seemed exposed. The marks of pain had created what appeared to be holes in his skin, suggesting that parts of his face had been eroded. His father sighed weakly upon seeing Abu Bakr. With difficulty, the king tried to rise, but Asmahan stopped him. He refused and leaned back into his pillows, opening his arms to Abu Bakr. The two embraced, a mixture of longing and sadness overwhelming them, until Asmahan's tears fell—tears she thought she had been holding in.
For the next few hours, they spoke about the journey, the road, and the caravan. Abu Bakr felt that his father had summoned all his strength to listen, hanging on every word. But then the king stopped him.
"Did you bring it, the book?" the king asked.
"You mean the little box?" Abu Bakr replied.
"Yes, did you get it?"
Abu Bakr retrieved the box from his bag, hidden among other books, and handed it to his father. The king examined it carefully, looking for something, until he found the lock designed to prevent it from being opened. After a long, deep breath, the king placed the box aside.
He then gripped Abu Bakr's hand tightly and whispered, "I leave the rule of the kingdom in your hands now. You will be the king after me. I have prepared you all these years for this moment."
Abu Bakr stood frozen, as did Asmahan, who stood nearby. Never before had the youngest son ruled in their family's history.
"But I don't care about ruling," Abu Bakr replied. "Power has never been my ambition. You know that. You're reminding me of what I wanted before." He referred to the journey he had once dreamed of taking, but he had grown skeptical of the reality of that distant land, especially since the ships that had set out months ago had disappeared and never returned.
"You will, I promise you. But not now. You will find that land. You will uncover the secrets I once longed to know, and you will read this book you brought," his father said.
Abu Bakr could see his father was delirious, and that his words were no longer coming from a clear mind. He looked at him with pity and sorrow, his heart heavy for the man who could no longer have a conversation without mentioning his superstition. He turned toward Asmahan, exchanging a look filled with sorrow, and nodded to her. A few moments later, they left the room, leaving their father to rest, leaving behind the story of the other land and his father's dream, which had consumed him for years. Abu Bakr, now king, no longer believed in the land beyond the seas.
At dawn the next day, the kingdom was stirred by the sound of a drum and the crier's voice. "The king has died?" the informer shouted at the top of his lungs.