Kaser bolted to the nearest table, snatched a waterskin, and offered it to the Hero, retreating with cautious reverence.
Malik grabbed the skin and drank greedily. He drained it in seconds, droplets spilling from the corners of his mouth, yet the gnawing beast of hunger and thirst still clawed at his insides.
"More," he commanded, his voice raspy but firm. "And bring food. The hunger is unbearable."
Kaser turned to sprint out, but before he could reach the archway, the Vizier's voice cracked like a whip.
"Halt! Do not bring him anything until we know the truth. Would you feed an enemy who might kill us?"
The Princess intervened with blind faith, stepping between her advisor and her giant. "I give the orders here. Go and bring him food immediately."
Kaser, who had frozen mid-step, nodded and scrambled toward the kitchen.
Malik looked around, spotted a wooden chair carved with intricate geometry, and dragged his heavy body toward it. He collapsed onto the seat, exhaling a long, shuddering breath—as if air hadn't truly entered his lungs in decades, which was the absolute truth. He inhaled deeply, then suddenly coughed, a cloud of gray dust expelling from his nose and mouth. He looked like an ancient antique that had just been pulled from a collapsed ruin.
The Vizier, clearly displeased by this stranger's arrogance and his blatant disregard for the interrogation, stepped closer.
"I said identify yourself," Yamen growled. "Who are you, and where did you come from? Why do you possess the body of the Great Nebras?"
Malik raised his head with difficulty. Pain squeezed his empty stomach, and he had no energy to spare for a debate with this scoundrel. He chose silence. Fortunately, the Princess stepped in, her tone sharp with annoyance.
"Let him rest, Yamen. Do not burden him with these exhausting questions. It is Nebras himself, come to us when we need him most. Do you not see the miracle before your eyes? How can you deny such a thing when you have witnessed it?"
The Vizier bristled at the use of his first name. He scanned the room anxiously, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.
"Caution is a duty, Princess. We know the tricks of sorcerers—how they infiltrate us to gather intelligence and destroy us from the inside. They do not hesitate to violate the sanctity of corpses or commit atrocities to achieve their goals. Do you not remember when they killed five of our soldiers, possessed their bodies, and returned to us as spies? They nearly assassinated you before I uncovered the plot. But I was too late to hide our location. Now the accursed Sand Soldiers are marching on us. Caution is mandatory, Princess. Do not let your emotions blind you to the truth."
Malik licked his upper lip. His eyelids felt heavy, but a cold rage simmered toward this Vizier.
He has one eye, Malik thought, calculating the distance between them. Perhaps a strong blow to the other one will make him tame. He won't be a threat then. I'll deal with him later.
"Vizier, this is a miracle from the heavens," the Princess insisted, her voice charged with emotion. "Our prayers are finally answered. Do not spoil it with your skeptical, paranoid thinking. We should not question miracles."
The blood rose in the Vizier's face. "A miracle that coincidentally happens the moment the Sand Army invades? The trap is staring you in the face. The timing is suspicious."
The Princess waved her hand dismissively. "It is the perfect timing. It is hope arriving after we had lost it."
Kaser burst into the room, interrupting the standoff. He carried a large circular tray piled high with roasted meat and a mound of grains resembling rice.
He set the tray before Malik. Malik's eyes sparkled with primal joy, and he attacked the food, tearing into the meat with ravenous intensity. Kaser stood tall, his chest swelling with pride at serving the returned Hero. The joy of the miracle touched him perhaps even more than the Princess—or so he believed, for every man measures the world by the capacity of his own heart.
He was the man who would bring out the best in this Hero, just as his ancestor had fought the world for the original Nebras.
"Get away from him!" the Vizier shouted at Kaser. "He might kill you! Feeding him before we get a single straight answer is a foolish plan!"
Malik finished a large piece of meat. He felt the nutrients hitting his blood, his body revitalizing, the energy humming through his veins like a dormant engine kicking to life.
He raised his head, wiped grease from his chin, and looked at the Vizier with absolute confidence and a half-smile.
"I am Nebras."