The tension in the air was thick, an invisible force pressing down on those who could feel the shift. The past was stirring, the hunt was beginning, and no one was truly safe anymore.Scene 1 – The FightThe village square was alive with movement. Flaming torches lined the edges of the open space, their flickering light casting long, erratic shadows on the dirt ground. The scent of sweat, dust, and something vaguely metallic—blood—hung in the air.A circle of spectators had formed, men and women of all ages standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces alive with excitement and tension. Some had climbed onto wooden crates, eager to get a better view. Others clutched gambling tokens, whispering hurried bets.In the middle of it all, Zafar stood tall, his chest rising and falling steadily. His opponent, Umar, a broad-shouldered, battle-hardened youth with a scar cutting across his left brow, smirked through bloodied lips.A voice pierced through the crowd, raw with bloodlust.“Kill him!”A

Scene 1: Zafar’s ConfessionThe fire flickered in the dimly lit cottage, its warm glow casting restless shadows along the walls. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Amara grinding herbs, her hands steady despite the weight of the day pressing upon her shoulders.Zafar sat across from her, unusually tense. His fingers traced the seams of his trousers, his thoughts tangled in an uneasy loop. He had held back for days, convincing himself that his concerns were nothing more than paranoia. But tonight, as the silence stretched between them, he could no longer keep it to himself.“Mother…” His voice was careful, testing.Amara’s hands stilled. Without turning, she responded, “What is it?”Zafar hesitated, his heart pounding. “I think someone has been following me.”That caught her attention. She turned sharply, her dark eyes locking onto his. “What?”“I noticed him first at the market. Then again today. He wasn’t just passing by—he was watching me.”A chill settled over the r

Scene 1: A Lesson in ObedienceThe sun was high, but the air in the village square was thick with unease. A crowd had gathered, their murmurs hushed beneath the weight of impending punishment. The people stood shoulder to shoulder, their expressions tense, eyes darting to the palace guards who lined the perimeter.At the center of it all, Shakur stood tall, his dark robes swaying slightly in the breeze. His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone sent a ripple of dread through the onlookers. His voice carried across the square, smooth yet sharp as a blade.“Let this be a warning,” he declared, his piercing gaze sweeping over the villagers. “Defiance against the king will not be tolerated. And today, you will all witness what happens to those who disobey.”At his signal, two guards emerged from the palace gates, dragging a man between them. He was young—barely past boyhood—but his body sagged from exhaustion. His bare feet dragged in the dust, his arms limp as they held him u

Scene 1: Darius and Shakur – The King’s FearsThe grand hall of the palace was eerily silent, the flames from the torches flickering against the marble walls. Darius stood near the open window, staring into the darkened horizon. His jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the stone ledge so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hadn’t slept well—not since the nightmares began.Shakur entered, his heavy boots echoing through the chamber. He paused at the sight of his king, studying the tension in his shoulders before speaking. “You summoned me, Your Majesty.”Darius exhaled sharply but didn’t turn around. “I had another dream,” he admitted, his voice low. “The same one… but worse.”Shakur’s expression remained unreadable as he stepped closer. “Dreams, my king? You’re losing sleep over dreams?”Darius finally turned to face him, his eyes dark and restless. “It was more than a dream, Shakur. It felt real. I was surrounded—trapped. And then… I was killed. Not by a single enemy, but by two. A

Scene 1: The Iron Grip of the KingThe village lay under a suffocating silence, the kind that settled when fear held people by the throat. Smoke curled from the chimneys, livestock roamed in fenced enclosures, and traders lingered in the market square—but none of it felt natural. The people watched the dirt road with wary eyes, their bodies tense, as if expecting a storm to strike at any moment.Then the sound of hooves shattered the quiet.Shakur rode in at the head of his soldiers, their polished armor glinting under the afternoon sun. The ground trembled beneath the march of disciplined boots, a display of force that sent villagers scurrying into their homes.The commander pulled his horse to a halt in the middle of the village square, his dark eyes sweeping over the cowering crowd. The scent of fresh bread and livestock filled the air, but behind it lurked the undeniable stench of fear.A gaunt man—perhaps a village elder—stepped forward hesitantly, his hands trembling as he press