Inside the grand palace of Samsara, the glow of brass-yellow lanterns reflected off the polished marble floor. Malik sat slouched on his throne, his body drained. Shoulders sagging, cold sweat trickled down his temples, and his eyes burned red from exhaustion.
"Physician," he said, voice heavy but still carrying authority. "Is your new elixir really going to work? Look at me… I'm like a walking corpse after overusing that power."
Before him, an elderly woman in a long silver robe approached with slow, deliberate steps. Her face was a map of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp—gleaming with conviction.
"Trust me, Sultan," she said softly. "This potion has been refined with thirteen sacred roots and extract from the rarest oasis herbs."
Without hesitation, Malik took the potion from her hands. The liquid was greenish, thick, and had a pungent, piercing aroma. He downed it in a single gulp, then slammed the small glass onto the stone table beside him.
