Malik al-Zahir

The sun hung low over Copher’s bustling port, its light gilding the sails and domes in molten gold. Amid the clamor of merchants and foreign tongues, Malik al-Zahir sat cross-legged on a worn rug near the caravanserai gates. His spear, Sahm al-Qamar, rested beside him, while Zafir, the great black camel, loomed in patient silence. With calm eyes scanning the crowd, Malik’s deep voice carried above the din “Who seeks the path? The desert awaits, but only with a guide.”