The palace loomed in the distance like a mirage, all marble towers and gilded domes rising from the sands like a promise meant only for the worthy.
Helios stood in the shadow of an outer gate, hood pulled over his head, Alira wearing her cloak close at his side. The scent of cinnamon, jasmine, and sun-warmed stone curled through the air, chased by the shouts of guards and the tinkling of palace fountains.
His eyes narrowed. Getting inside wasn't going to be simple.
He knew of this world from the game, but had never seen inside the palace proper. His dark corridors were tied to memory and vision. Without an anchor point inside, he couldn't portal directly in.
No, this was going to require finesse.
Helios reached down and took Alira's hand. Her fingers, cold and light as ever, curled around his without resistance.
"Don't make a sound," he whispered. "No footsteps. Breathe quitely if you can help it."
Then he invoked a spell over Alira just to be certain their presence would go unnoticed.
A shimmer passed over them like ripples on still water. Not invisibility—this magic didn't erase them. It made them unnoticeable. People would look their way and simply choose not to see. Their minds would fill the gap with shadows, reflections, or tricks of the light.
Perfect for palace infiltration.
They slipped through the open servants' gate just before it closed. A guard turned and blinked as if forgetting why he'd looked at all.
Through halls of polished stone, they moved like ghosts. Past open doors, around columns, clinging to the echoes of laughter and music. They paused only when necessary, waiting for guards or servants to move aside, always stepping in rhythm with other distractions.
The palace was a dream of light and water—mosaics glittering across domes, silk banners catching the wind like sails, and arched windows letting in golden desert sun.
Alira said nothing as they moved, but Helios could feel her gaze shifting. Her body had begun to react on its own: the faintest tilt of her head toward laughter, the twitch of her fingers when she heard music. These were echoes—shadows of a soul she didn't know she'd once carried.
Eventually, they reached a high balcony that overlooked the throne room below.
"Stay low," Helios murmured.
They knelt behind the balustrade and looked down.
The throne room was alive with color and laughter. No courtly tension, no drawn weapons or grim faces—just a family gathered in afternoon light.
Seated upon a broad, golden throne was a stout man with a great brown beard and a smile like sunlight on water.
Sultan Hamed Bobolonius II.
He leaned forward on the armrests, animatedly recounting what sounded like a half-remembered poem. "And then it goes—no, no, wait—'By the sands and the stars, my love shall not fade'—or was it my heart shall not fade? What do you think Soraya?"
Beside him stood a woman in soft violet silks, her posture graceful, her smile indulgent.
Helios had never seen her before. He knew of her but didn't know her name as she passed away when Jasmine was young from what he remembered in the Aladdin movies.
She carried herself like moonlight—soft, but constant. Her voice was quiet, but when she spoke, it pressed against the air with weight.
"It was 'my heart,' husband," she said gently, brushing her fingers along the Sultan's arm. "But the sentiment was sweet."
Two girls chased each other around the fountain.
The smaller one, with a mane of wild black hair and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, was unmistakably young Jasmine. She giggled as she darted between the thrones, clutching a small tiger cub to her chest.
"Mini-Raj wants to be a hero!" she shouted.
The other girl was more reserved, her neat braid bouncing as she walked with dignity. A scroll was tucked under her arm.
Sharma. Jasmine's cousin.
She was the quiet type—watching more than speaking, observing everything with the sharp-eyed intensity of a future scholar.
"Mini-Raj has no tactical advantage," Sharma said seriously, "and you're not using terrain to your benefit. Isn't that right Rani?"
Jasmine stuck out her tongue.
"You're such a royal pain."
"You're royal too, you know."
"Only when I feel like it!"
Up on the balcony, Helios almost—almost—smiled.
Then, below, Soraya turned toward the girls.
"Sharma," she said gently, "you may call me Aunty. You don't need to be so formal, dear."
Sharma straightened. "Yes, R—Aunty."
Watching her move, watching her command the room with nothing more than a glance, he understood instantly.
This is where Jasmine's fire came from.
Soraya laughed softly and leaned to whisper something to the Sultan, who gave a delighted snort.
Helios whispered, "This is not what I expected."
Alira's voice was barely audible. "She has a strong heart."
He turned his eyes to her. "You noticed?"
Alira nodded slowly. "She reminded me… of something. Like… light in a storm."
Helios didn't answer. He simply watched the woman below with newfound respect.
Then the throne room doors burst open.
A tall, thin man entered, robes trailing behind him like an ink stain across marble.
He strode forward without bow or greeting, ruby-eyed staff clicking with every step.
"The peasants are growing restless," he said without preamble. "They speak of revolt. Send the guard. Remind them of their place."
Jasmine flinched and scurried behind the Sultan. Sharma frowned but held her ground.
Soraya didn't raise her voice.
She simply turned to him and smiled.
"Vizier," she said warmly. "Why have you entered so loudly? You've startled the children. And where is your greeting to your Sultan and Rani?"
"I… My apologies, Rani Soraya. I thought urgency outweighed formality."
"Urgency?" she asked. "You mean the unrest caused by the tax increase you recommended… during a famine?"
Helios arched a brow. Sharp as a blade.
"I only advised austerity—"
"And now the people riot," she interrupted gently. "How curious."
The Sultan, stroking his beard, nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should… reverse it?"
"Yes," Soraya said. "Let the people breathe. They will remember mercy more than punishment."
Jafar's lips curled. His fingers tightened around his staff.
"Of course. I yield to your wisdom."
He turned sharply, robes swishing.
But Soraya's voice cut across the room once more.
She tilted her head. "Do you not know palace etiquette? You entered without greeting… Surely you won't leave without offering one?"
A pause. Then, slowly, he turned and bowed low.
Soraya exhaled, her fingers brushing Jasmine's hair as the girl emerged from behind the throne. The children relaxed again.
Helios stood slowly, hand tightening around his cloak's edge.
"That's the one," he murmured. "He'll lead us to what we need."
They slipped away into the palace halls, leaving behind the laughter.