"…it's origin however, I can't reveal to you, for honestly I don't know where the dagger really came from. Old myths told that it was forged from a god's tear that fell onto the sands aeons ago, others claimed that it was unearthed from the tomb of a great king of the ice people, some even said it was the fang of a horrible beast that might one day return for it. All I know for sure is that my grand-grandfather was the last one who dared to use it's power. After witnessing how his son fell to his death, he undid what had happened and saved the boy, only to lose him hardly a month later to a dire sickness that couldn't be stopped, no matter how often he rewound time. It almost broke his grieving heart, endlessly watching his son suffer and die over and over and over again… with nothing that he could do to prevent it. I can only estimate how long it took him to understand the futility of his actions, but the day he let his son die, he became a wiser man. He commanded the dagger to be taken to the deepest and darkest recess of the vaults, surrounded by deathtraps, so no mortal man should ever again have to endure it's horrible curse. Afterwards my ancestor forever left the palace to join the temples, many of his religious writings are still in existence though and archived in the palace's library. My own father told me this secret tale on his deathbed and in the many years of my reign it has saved me countless times, whenever I was tempted to unleash the dagger's magic. Armed with this weapon, a man could face an army with no fear for his own life, he could walk like a god amongst mortals, but with time his heart would age for him, never could he find happiness, never prevent all the injustice, never undo all the tragedies in this world. Even while holding the wrath to destroy the whole world in his hands, he would be afraid of his own shadow. Insight is what the dagger offers for the daring, though at the prize of unimaginable torment…"
At this point the maharajah's speech was harshly interrupted as the door to the guest chambers flew open to reveal a husky guard, who was obviously in quite a hurry. Realising his improper behaviour, the man threw himself at the maharajahs feet, but was immediately commanded to speak up.
"My lord! We just had word from the main gate," the man reported overjoyed "the princess has returned safely! The Persian king is to arrive here at sunset, and he will bring his guards with him!"
"Excellent!" the maharajah's features lightened up and he clapped his hands "tell my daughter I want to see her at once. Let the captain know I need every man in full armour that can hold a spear on the east wall at sunset, be it soldier, servant or scullion, our Persian guest shall see with his own eyes that we're ready for him. And send for the cooks and the womenfolk, we have a feast to prepare after all!"
"Please, make yourself comfortable then" he added, once again addressing the prince, who rose to his feet and bowed politely when the maharajah approached the doorway to take a leave "since your father wisely decided to rather speak with his tongue than his steel there's time for you to enjoy the amenities… eat, drink, take a bath if you want to, the servants have been told you are a guest, if you have a wish, feel free to ask and it will be provided. I'll later have a choice of festive clothes being brought, you surely don't want to join the feast in armour? Though for now I must hurry, please excuse me."
Left alone, the prince dropped back onto the huge, saffron coloured cushions they'd been sitting on with a sigh, then absent-mindedly began to remove the tight-fitting cuirass that still bore the remnants of his clash with the treacherous vizier in the morning, most of it blood of the enemy. With scabbard, armour and the confining leather harness gone he was finally able to stretch out comfortably, but winced at the attempt, unpleasantly reminded of the black bruises which the vizier's snake-staff had left on his arms and ribcage. That had been impressive strength, for the illusions of an old man…
…