The One
Prologue
The sun was low in the sky, casting a gentle, warm glow over all Sindria. Shadows danced up and down the streets as residents meandered here and there, idly chatting with neighbors and friends. A warm breeze mingled with the sheer curtains in open windows, billowing back and forth as though kind ghosts were floating about. Laughter from young children could be heard from the nearby courtyard, and mothers' calls were echoing as they called their little ones home. The greatest of these sights, these sounds, was peace. Simple, honest, unyielding peace. Everything he'd set out to do, all the things he promised himself, his mother…his father…they were before his golden eyes. He had accomplished the greatest feat of their time. The miracle child, the one-in-a-millennium, the singularity in this world had become the King he dreamt of.
Everything he could hope for, dream of, think, imagine…it was all right here. He had everything he needed, and everything he wanted. He had friendships and alliances to last anyone a lifetime, and he knew he appeared to everyone as the happiest man on the planet. He was loved by all, babies to the elderly, by his friends and newcomers, by those who'd never laid eyes on him. The world knew his name, his accomplishments, and all that he stood for. But that was just the surface. That was just the façade he wore each day, putting his friends, his allies, his subjects before himself. He was born to be a miracle to this world, to change everything, and to make a nation where men, women, and children could live happy, peaceful lives.
"Have I accomplished everything I was supposed to accomplish? Seven Djinns, loyal friends and subjects, a peaceful nation?" A soft sigh escaped his lips as he brushed long purple bangs from his eyes. Folding his arms on the ornate railing, he rested his cheek against the palm of his hand. Half lidded eyes continued to gaze down at the courtyard beneath the King's Suite balcony. A mother comforted a little girl who'd fallen and scuffed her knee as she jogged toward their home. He smiled, adjusting his weight from one sandal-clad foot to the other. White robes flowed around his ankles, swaying in the breeze. He was grateful and proud of Sindria and the trading company. His lips curved in a smile as he envisioned his strong father, Badr. I hope I've made you proud, Papa, he thought. I hope you can rest easily wherever you may be.
Lost in his thoughts, drifted far away to Parthevia, to a time he was adamant he'd never forget. His mother…Esra…his loyal, kind, goofy father. When life was as simple as it could be. When he was praised for getting water from the well instead of conquering another dungeon. If only you could see me now, Momma, Papa…Another soft sigh, another shift of his weight. He didn't hear the scuffing of sandals against marble or the chuckle of his loyal advisor and friend.
"Where are you spending the evening today, Sin?" Ja'far chuckled, standing beside the King and resting his arms on the rail, as well. "Imchuk? Sasan?" Sinbad had developed a habit recently. After dinner with the eight generals, he'd often disappear to his chambers, the courtyard, the cliffs. Ja'far or Pisti would find him most often, and they'd be told the same thing. He'd lost track of time, or he'd been on a long walk. Ja'far knew better than to believe him, though he'd become more concerned than amused lately. Sinbad appeared sad, and Ja'far was unsure how to handle that. The usually happy-go-lucky, nonchalant King of the Seven Seas was withdrawing himself from gatherings, celebrations, banquets…he'd almost missed the most recent Mahrajan, something Hinahoho and Rurumu would have been devastated by. Thankfully, Drakon could find him and remind him of that evening's plans. Sinbad had been residing in a hammock on the cliff that day, watching the ocean waves come and go on the beach below.
Sinbad opened his eyes and tilted his head to regard Ja'far. He smiled and offered a shrug of his shoulder. "Parthevia, actually. I was thinking about my parents." He stood up, extending his long, shapely arms above his head. After his stretch, he relaxed again and put his hands on his hips. "I was thinking of how they'd love Sindria. This would have been the perfect place for them to retire. My mother was sick…she died when I was fourteen. Papa was sent to war when I was five and I never heard from him again. They are a huge part of why I've done everything the way I have. Their memories…they're so important. They make me remember to be grateful for everything we've accomplished."
Listening to the way Sinbad spoke of his parents caused Ja'far to furrow his brow. Not only was he more reserved of late, he was almost…philosophic? He was not himself, and The Generals were starting to notice. "They would love it here, Sin, I'm sure. What made you think of them, now?"
"I was remembering how they loved each other," Sinbad replied. "Every day, my Father would leave to fish, and every evening, my mother would wait for him to come home with dinner ready. They spent every day together if they could, and their love was something they smothered me in. I just remember the way my father looked at my mother, like he couldn't live without her. He gave his life protecting us. It's amazing hope people can have that much love, isn't it?" The King turned his back to the railing and leaned against it, resting his elbows on the railing at his sides.
Ja'far smiled, idly nodding his head. "It's not something I recall from my childhood, but I can see what you mean. Like the woman down there," his eyes watched as the young mother cradled her crying child and looked over her knee. "You can see it in her eyes, the way she'd do anything for her child." Turning back to his friend, Ja'far smiled. "What are you saying? You want to find all the children you've sired in this world?" His eyebrow twitched as he smirked.
Sinbad threw his head back and laughed, his shoulders shaking with the unexpected amusement of Ja'far's joke. "That's a little much, don't you think, Ja'far?" He shook his head with mirth, standing to his full height and taking a step away from the rail. "Who's to say I've even sired any children, yet?" He raised a purple brow and leaned toward Ja'far, teasing him for the insinuation.
"With as many red-light districts as you've frequented, I can only imagine!" Ja'far exclaimed, leaning toward Sinbad in return. "Where do you want me to start? Artemyura? Imchuk? Perhaps Parthevia, since I'm sure you started early?" He was laughing, too, joining Sinbad in the row. "I can't even imagine how many children you could have by now! I haven't seen any purple-haired girls or boys running around in Sindria, but who's to say the other allied countries don't have tons of them?"
The King of the Seven Seas was known for his often-inappropriate humor, but hearing Ja'far poke fun at him was enough for Sinbad to be taken over by laughter. He knew his friend was right; he was often found enjoying the services of the red-light districts with Mystras when they were together, but that was a long time ago. There was some truth to what Ja'far had said; he probably did have children somewhere. But the thought of being a father, even a husband, wasn't something that scared Sinbad as much as it used to. He'd conquered seven dungeons, mastered his Djinn equips, created a whole new world and fought in several wars. But he had not conquered his heart…or allowed it to be conquered.
Throwing his arm around Ja'far's shoulders, Sinbad proceeded toward the balcony doors. "Who knows, Ja'Far…maybe I'll make you an Uncle and an Advisor? What do you think of that?" He wiggled his brows and chuckled, turning his palm upward in a nonchalant motion to emphasize his suggestion.
Ja'far was taken aback, not expecting Sinbad to seriously consider what he was saying. He hadn't gone to the balcony to talk Sinbad into becoming a father one day. What is he thinking? Is he serious? Looking up at Sinbad, behind the amused, golden eyes, he saw something was missing.
Sinbad was lonely.