With the tournament over, the Inner Capital returned to its usual peace. The arena was left abandoned and those who did not hold permanent residence in the Inner Capital were quickly ushered out of the city sheltered by walls that wrapped around it, standing high and wide. It was detailed in some older books that the walls were as high as 40 metres. Others, including the King, boasted that the actual size was fifty metres. And so books of a newer generation described them as such.
Placed right in the middle of the Inner Capital was the Grand Palace, elevated above all that surrounded it. It stretched across almost the entire width of the city, growing in height as you reached its centre. Though grand and magnificent, glistening gold mixed with a daunting black, the Palace looked like a child in comparison to the towering walls that hid the outside world from those residing in the city.
Not a spot within the city had even the slightest sight of dirt. Each floor, wall, home, even step never stopped shining when the sun passed over. The Palace, at times, would reflect such a piercing light that looking at it wasn't advised. Unless, perhaps, someone believed they were due some punishment by God.
But most strangely of all, its citizens continually wiped their foreheads with plain, white towels that seemed to always rest around their necks. At first glance, it was obvious why they had to do such a thing: the climate was humid and hot almost all year round, meaning the citizens could not escape the sun unless they hid inside. But upon further inspection, it became obvious that they had become used to the heat. The citizens weren't necessarily hot, they were tired.
As a sign of wealth and power, the Inner Capital, the Palace towering far higher above all, had steps running through it, stretching from four sides of its circular walls. As a result, citizens almost always had to walk upwards if desiring to visit somewhere that wasn't their own home. Even so, they did not care – or at least they certainly didn't think twice about showing that they did, for they all dreamt about the day where they'd be moved to somewhere higher within the Inner Capital. Not because it meant they'd have to walk up fewer steps, but because it meant the King would have recognised them for something worthy of such a prestigious happening.
*****
"Sire, what do you think we should do? If we don't act quickly, the mission could be compromised and we'd have lost so many men for nothing." The Avian soldier sounded worried as he uneasily informed Ibraheem of the bad news.
Ibraheem stared into the mirror in front of him, his arms tightly placed behind his back as his hands rested on one another. He frowned, then heavily exhaled, catching a glimpse of the soldier behind him avidly awaiting instructions.
"We must send more soldiers right away. Take however many you think is necessary."
The soldier bolted upright, then he bowed toward Ibraheem, his voice still jittery. "Yes, S–Sire. I won't let you—"
"And," Ibraheem brazenly interrupted, halting the soldier before he could turn away and be on his way. "And, don't forget I'll have your head if I find out the amount of soldiers you have chosen is wrong."
"W–W–Wrong, sire? What exactly does that mean?"
Ibraheem turned around. The soldier immediately bowed his head again, shutting his eyes tightly in fear.
"Just come back with news of victory. That's all. Oh, and if we don't find what we are looking for–"
A door burst open from the other side of the room, somewhat startling the soldier as Ibraheem remained unfazed. Amin, Karim, and their Mother appeared from behind the door, all bearing smiles on their faces as they greeted their father. Slowly behind came Hussein, and then Iman and, lost at the back, Hamid. As Hamid entered the room, the door almost closed on him, Iman clearly choosing to forget that one of her many brothers was close behind.
"Stand up normally," Ibraheem whispered to the guard. The guard did exactly that, prompting Ibraheem to move closer to him and lean towards his ear.
"If we don't find what we are looking for…burn the entire village to the ground. If they aren't willing to give it to us, then they don't deserve anything of their own."
The guard nodded, appearing more resolute this time. "Of course, sire. I will relay the message immediately." And with that, Ibraheem ushered the guard away as he turned to his family with a great, welcoming smile.
"Father!" Karim gleefully exclaimed.
"Hey, dad," Amin said airily.
"Sorry about the—"
Ibraheem cut off Hamid, but still held his freakishly big smile.
"Ah my sons, my sons. I commend you all for the great shows you put on earlier. I can tell you it wasn't only me who was impressed. I'm sure you all saw the people in the audience cheering at every opportunity. Magnificent!" When uttering that last word, he threw his arms into the air, displaying the many rings on his hand — rings of all shapes and unnecessary sizes.
"Hey, what about your daughter?! She put on an amazing show too, yaknow?" Iman scoffed again, shrugging her shoulders, simultaneously looking at her mother for approval. Her mother smiled, but didn't say a word.
Ibraheem scanned the faces of his three boys, ending with Hamid. He saw his glum face, and did his best to say something to cheer him up.
"Even you, Hamid, it was, ummm, exciting to watch you…even if you did lose again. There's always next year, I suppose."
Hamid could hear the lack of truthfulness in Ibraheem's words, deciding to bury his face on his mother's shoulder as she rubbed his head to comfort him. "Don't worry, Hamid. I enjoyed watching you. You did very well. Hussein and I both thought so."
Amin saw this and had other ideas. Amin began to mock Hamid who had started tearing up, pretending to rub his eyes and wipe the imaginary tears falling from his face. Karim similarly sought to agitate someone, but not quite the person Amin had hoped. As Amin continued to mock Hamid, Karim triumphantly pointed at himself with his left thumb while fixing his eyes on Amin.
"Hey, you should be crying as well. You lost too. You lost to me. And, if you think about it," Karim chuckled before continuing, "Hamid isn't the only one with something in one of his eyes right now."
Amin's face dropped. His hands too. Then a vein began to pulsate in the corner of his head.
"Oh, you just got lucky! And besides, I let you win." Amin turned away from Karim, trying to hide the great smile that grew on his face, but his jittering shoulders gave away that he couldn't contain his laughter. "I put that rock there on purpose because I felt bad for winning all the time."
Karim began to scratch his head, looking bemused after hearing Amin's terrible excuse. "Huh? Why would you purposefully almost blind yourself? That doesn't even make sense. Also, how could I have won by luck and by you letting me win?" Karim leaned forward, his eyebrows raised and his index finger pointing at Amin. "So, which one is it, you sore loser?"
"Enough already," Amin sighed. "Do you think you're cool now just because your hair is red or something? I know we both lost the bet, so I have these two purple streaks in my hair, but your hair doesn't even look like mine and Hamid's. It's long. So what's the point? You didn't need to change the colour of your hair"
Karim scratched the back of his head and nervously laughed.
"Well, it's like you said. We made a bet and I lost. I'm a man of my word, you know. Also, people are dumb, aren't they? Some people still got us mixed up when I had black hair anyway."
Ibraheem clearly had enough of their bickering, and ushered them all to the dinner table.
"Come on, Hamid, let's sit down and eat. I'm sure it'll make you feel better," the Mother warmly whispered to Hamid.
"Hey Hamid. You know I'm just joking…right?" Amin hesitantly said to Hamid as he and his mother walked to their seats, his face still partially buried in her shoulder.
"Yeah…whatever."
They all then found their places. Ibraheem at the head of the table, his wife closest to him, on his left, and then the five children scattered around.
The table was immaculately long, reaching across the majority of the room. The table could undoubtedly hold at least fifteen people on each of its sides, yet only seven people were present. And while the table was full of food that only the royals could have access to in such quantities, the mood in the room appeared dim, despite the glorious chandelier lighting up the room.
No one spoke. Everyone ate, the kids eating particularly quickly. But not a word was said for the next twenty or so minutes. Chopping, crunching, and the ripping of fine meats with teeth filled the room as eyes remained glued to the food sat in front of them, the mother the only person lifting her head up every so often.
CLANGGG!
The kids shook with fright.
CLANGGG!
This time the kids silently groaned.
Ibraheem rose from his chair, his hands leaning onto the table. "It's time for Mass Prayer. We must go outside."
Everyone else reluctantly left their seats and followed Ibraheem outside to the front of the palace, arriving at the top of a giant set of stairs that cut through the capital.
In front of them, clearly dressed for the occasion and ready with a lengthy script in his hand, was an old man wearing a golden gown with ancient-looking black writing laced all around his clothing. He turned to Ibraheem as he appeared through the Palace doors and nodded. As Ibraheem and the family reached him, they looked downward at the rest of the capital.
Albeit familiar, the sight was one that they could never quite get used to. Iman desperately tried to remind her father of this fact, hoping he'd appreciate her observation this time. "The sight from here during Mass Prayer is amazing, isn't it father?"
"Yes…yes it is," Ibraheem replied.
From above, the Hakimi family could see rows of people perched onto their knees, their foreheads placed gently on the floor while surrounding the capital, patiently awaiting what was to come.
Only the slight whispering of the wind disturbed the silence. Then the man in the gown raised his hands into the air, his hands open and fingers stretched as everyone rose up and began singing hymns in unison.
Ibraheem followed, mouthing the words as opposed to actually saying them. So too did the children and the mother.
This continued for a few minutes until the man in the gown closed his fists, and everyone fell silent, reducing themselves once again to their knees.
"Why do we worship God? Why do we sing these hymns together as one? Why is it that we ask God for success? We ask for more, despite already being blessed with our autonomy?"
Already bored, the triplets began to pinch one another in an attempt to force the other to make a sound that would alarm their father. Though unsuccessful on this occasion, Karim was mighty close to laughing, but managed to hold it in.
"Is it because we are greedy and desire more than we deserve? Or is it because God has so much more to give us? For he is the most trustworthy…the most generous…the most praiseworthy being in existence."
Though the Hakimi Family were evidently bored, they knew they would reveal such through their expression. They kept smiling or looking serious — whichever they found easier. And to their dismay, the man in the gown didn't seem to be finishing any time soon.
"God looks over us with purpose, ensuring that we all live prosperous lives. Yet prosperity is not merely the material blessing that we relish within this triumphant Kingdom. It is the love, the peace, the hope that lives on in our hearts in times of peril that keeps us joined together in unity. When we sing together, it is not out of obligation, but out of gratitude, for our praise is deserving."
The man began to tear up slightly, his voice suddenly becoming more passionate than before.
"Yet…yet it is not enough. That is why we must continue to show our love. Show our admiration to HIM, for then we shall be saved, and granted eternal life once we leave this world. Without him, none of us would be able to speak our words so freely."
Ibraheem subtly cleared his throat, gaining the man's attention. Ibraheem looked at him coldly and lightly nodded. With fear in his eyes, the man turned back to the people, his passionate tone becoming vaguely masked by nervousness.
"And God has bestowed this power onto us through King Ibraheem and his selfless family. Ibraheem represents the brilliance of God, but in our form. He has been righteously chosen to take charge of God's powers and use them to enforce HIS will. It is Ibraheem who has been chosen to guide us along the holy path…the right path…the only path…to salvation."
He took one, long deep breath and closed his eyes, ending the prayer with one last line.
"And it is that path we must all follow."