The vast Caliphate, once a mighty ocean of power spanning continents, had begun to ebb. Internal strife, endless factional conflict, and the strain of unceasing wars wore down its foundations. The courts were rife with intrigue, the caliphs mere shadows of former glories, struggling to hold together a fracturing empire distant from the holy lands they once ruled.In distant Europe, in a dimly lit hall of the Council of Clermont in 1095, Pope Urban II's fervent speech ignited a spark that would cascade into a tempest. Jerusalem—the eternal city sacred to three faiths—had been under Muslim rule for centuries, but now it was a prize to be seized. Calling knights and pilgrims to arms, Urban promised salvation and the glory of reclaiming the city.The Crusader armies, ragged but driven by fanatic faith and vows, marched relentlessly across unforgiving lands. Families left behind wept as fathers, sons, and brothers embarked on what many believed was a holy destiny. Yet beneath the veneer of zeal lay the cold hunger of conquest and survival in a harsh, brutal world.When the Crusaders reached Jerusalem in 1099, the city stood fortified. Nestled within its walls were Fatimid defenders—the inheritors of a fading Caliphate's wealth and resilience. The siege lasted for five torturous weeks, characterized by desperate sallies and horrific slaughter. The air was thick with ash, smoke, and the cries of the dying.When the walls finally fell, the Crusaders unleashed a merciless fury. The streets flooded with blood. Men, women, and children—faithful and innocent alike—were slaughtered in a wave of religious madness and reprisal. The lamentations of the captured echoed beyond the stone ramparts, a haunting dirge for a lost world.Back in the fractured Caliphate, anguish turned to anger and despair. The caliphs' proclamations rang hollow as factions squabbled and borders bled. What was once a beacon of Islamic power was now a maelstrom of resentment and impotence. The once-glorious flag of the Caliph hung tattered, its honor defiled in the eyes of the faithful.Far from these halls of agony, Arun's spies brought word of these tragedies. The immortal soul that had weathered centuries within northern India's impregnable walls felt an ancient sorrow—as well as a solemn warning. The tides of history were cruel and relentless. Beneath the seemingly unbreakable wall, beneath the calm majesty of his empire, Arun knew that power might stave off fate, but could never escape it.The tragedy of Jerusalem was not just a distant war; it was a mirror to all empires—to their fragility, to their hubris, and to the human cost of dreams that reached too
