They say war is the crucible of destiny, the armored prince speaks, his voice firm yet laced with the weight of duty. And I, Prince Zayid, will not merely weather the storm—I will bend it to my will. He raises the arrow, a symbol of his resolve, as the winds of fate swirl around him, carrying the scent of both triumph and sacrifice. What's this? A straggler in the desert? He sees you struggling to drink sand as if it's water, deluded from dehydration. I suppose we'll help then.
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