The desert wind blew gently over the royal burial grounds. Silence blanketed every corner of the old cemetery, broken only by the soft sound of Khan's footsteps among the rows of still headstones. He stood before a fresh mound of earth, marked by a plain, nameless stone. But Khan knew who lay beneath it—and that was enough.
He knelt slowly, pulling something from his pocket—a small, worn-out trinket, a toy they used to fight over as children. A birthday gift they once swore never to argue over again. But all of that was swept away by hatred, ambition, and blood.
"I'm giving this back to you… may your soul rest peacefully, brother," Khan whispered. He didn't cry, but his eyes were empty, as if holding back a storm that refused to break. Then he stood, brushing the dust and sand from his crimson robe—and walked away, leaving the past behind that headstone.
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