POV : Ruqayyah's life
Suddenly, a courier from Caliph Al-Ma'mun arrived. Al-Mu'tashim broke the seal and read the message in silence. His face betrayed nothing, yet the air around him seemed to stiffen, charged with unspoken tension.
"Prepare for departure," he said briefly to his guards. "I return to Khurasan."
Ruqayyah, standing a short distance away, froze. Khurasan… so far from Baghdad. Her chest tightened at the thought.
A familiar voice echoed in her mind. [Ding! Reward granted for possessing the document, even if discovered. Reward: The Host may request one boon. (Note: request must be within system capability.)]
She blinked and let a small, ironic smile tug at her lips. "Heh… so merely holding it earns a reward, huh?"
Al-Mu'tashim cast a sharp glance. "What?"
Ruqayyah quickly shook her head. "Nothing." Her eyes remained alert, suspicious, yet she offered no explanation.
The system spoke again. [Host. New mission: Meet your father, Wazir Al-Fadl ibn Sahl, before his death. Time limit: two months.]
The world seemed to pause. Ruqayyah's face drained of color. "What…?" she whispered, almost inaudible. Two months… before his death. Her hand clenched tightly beneath her sleeve.
Annoying system, she murmured silently.
Al-Mu'tashim noticed the subtle shift. "You look as though you've just received news of a death," he said flatly.
Ruqayyah lowered her gaze quickly. "No… I was merely… thinking."
But her breath betrayed her. Khurasan. Her father was there. And if the system had said before his death… then time was painfully short.
She tried to recall the history she had once read in the twenty-first century. Wazir Al-Fadl, assassinated in the year 818. And 818… was this year.
Panic surged through her. Only a month remained.
Al-Mu'tashim stepped closer, stopping a mere span from her. "If there is something you wish to say," he said coldly, "say it now. I must leave."
The tone was not a suggestion. It was a deadline.
Ruqayyah swallowed hard. Leave… Khurasan… her father… 818… Her blood ran cold, and her breath grew uneven. Could this cold, unyielding man really leave her alone in Baghdad, in the lion's den? The Abbasid palace was no safe haven, especially for the daughter of a wazir whose enemies were plentiful.
Al-Mu'tashim observed every flicker across her face. "You tremble," he noted tersely.
"I… wish to accompany you to Khurasan," Ruqayyah replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside.
Silence fell.
Al-Mu'tashim's expression remained unreadable. "Reason," he demanded, one word as sharp as a blade.
Ruqayyah froze for a heartbeat. Her mind raced. She could not reveal that she knew her father would be murdered, that the future itself had spoken to her.
Finally, she said, "Was that not why you aided me before, Prince? To return me to my family?"
Al-Mu'tashim considered this. Indeed, Khurasan was her birthplace. Yet the region was as unstable as Baghdad. Why should I care for her safety? he thought. Let her return to her father if she insists.
A strangled silence hung in the chamber, broken only by the intermittent scrape of a sword against stone as the guards paced outside.
"Your family is a source of trouble for the Caliph at this time," Al-Mu'tashim murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with menace. "Taking you to Khurasan would mean carrying a walking target at my side. Are you prepared for the consequences?"
Ruqayyah lifted her chin, her eyes still trembling moments ago, now blazing with a determination unfamiliar to the prince. "The consequence of staying in Baghdad is a slow death in isolation. The consequence of going to Khurasan is a chance at survival. I choose the latter."
Al-Mu'tashim narrowed his eyes. He saw something in the woman before him that went beyond a pampered wazir's daughter. He saw a feral instinct to survive, sharp and unyielding.
While awaiting Al-Mu'tashim's response, Ruqayyah summoned the system within her mind.
Ruqayyah (thinking): "System, I want to use my wish now."
System: [Accepted. State your request, Master.]
Ruqayyah: "Make Al-Mu'tashim feel that my presence in Khurasan is key to his own survival—or at least make him feel compelled to take me along without hesitation."
[Processing request… Activating Effect: "Thread of Fate Bound." Al-Mu'tashim will experience a strong intuition that your presence is a strategic asset, not a burden.]
Suddenly, Al-Mu'tashim felt a strange pulse in his chest—a sharp premonition that leaving Ruqayyah behind in Baghdad would cost him his most crucial piece in the deadly game unfolding between himself, Al-Ma'mun, and the factions of Khurasan.
He turned his face away, exhaling a low, humorless laugh at the logic suddenly twisting in his mind.
"Pack your belongings," he ordered without looking back. "We leave at dawn. If you delay me by even an hour, I will leave you stranded in the desert without water."
Ruqayyah exhaled a long, quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you, Your Highness."
As Al-Mu'tashim departed, a translucent screen flickered into view before Ruqayyah's eyes.
Mission Details
Primary Objective: Prevent the assassination of Al-Fadl ibn Sahl at Sarakhs.
Time Remaining: 59 Days, 23 Hours, 58 Minutes.
Difficulty: S (Extremely Hard) – History is a powerful current.
Warning: The death of Al-Fadl will shatter the Sahl faction and endanger your life.
Ruqayyah leaned against the wall, whispering to herself, "Does this mean I must prevent the wazir's death as well?"
Sarakhs, Khurasan. Year 818 CE. She recalled the historical record: her father would be slain in his bath by mysterious agents—many suspected by secret command of Al-Ma'mun himself.
"I will not merely fight against time," she murmured. "I must fight against the Caliph's will."
Ruqayyah now had the opportunity to travel to Khurasan, yet her journey had only just begun.
The afternoon sun hung low over the military barracks in Baghdad, thick with the scent of iron and dust. Though the sun had not yet reached its zenith, preparations for departure were already in full swing.
As a general, Al-Mu'tashim was a figure of intimidation. Unlike the Abbasid nobility, fond of delicate silks and the scent of roses, he wore lamellar armor of interlocking iron scales, practical and unforgiving. The muscles of his dark arms bore the proof of countless battles, not merely the favor of his brother, the Caliph.
Yet behind the ferocity of the battlefield lay a vulnerability he guarded closely: he could not read well. Written words were to him a secret code, more perplexing than any enemy formation.
Inside the main tent, he studied a parchment containing logistical reports and a map of the route to Khurasan. He rolled and unrolled the scroll, squinting at the inked symbols, which resembled a bird's claw to his eyes.
He could snap an enemy's neck with his bare hands, yet he could not conquer the logistical strategy written before him. "Damn it," he muttered, voice low and sharp, slamming the scroll onto the table.
"Prince," Ruqayyah's voice broke the silence. She entered without permission, clad in simple, travel-ready garments that remained modest yet functional.
Al-Mu'tashim snapped the parchment shut with a rough motion, his face hardening. "Who granted you entry? Return to your quarters."