"Did you not, only moments ago, refuse outright to hear us out, sensei?" Zara interjected, her tone edged with vexation, arms folded firmly across her chest.
Eman let out a soft laugh, his eyes narrowing with amusement, "Yes, I concede that was indeed my failing, Zara," he replied, lifting his hands in a gesture of good-humoured surrender.
"Stubborn old goat," she muttered, turning her face away in a theatrical huff, though the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed the smile she fought to contain.
Doctor Zein released a quiet sigh at the exchange between Zara and Eman, then turned his gaze towards the elder, his voice calm yet curious.
“Tell me, Master Eman! Do you believe Rashdan was once an ordinary man who rose to kingship, or was he of noble blood from the beginning?”
Eman inclined his head thoughtfully, “A fine question indeed,” he murmured.
“Rashdan did not descend from a royal house, yet nor could he be called a commoner."
"He was born into the esteemed Ghifar tribe, an ancient lineage known for its unbroken heritage, wisdom, and revered standing among its people.”
“He was raised amidst values of leadership and learning,” Eman continued, his tone deepening with reverence. “His father held the mantle of tribal chieftain, while his mother came from a line of great scholars men and women whose words held sway across the region.”
“So he was, in a way, forged to lead from the very start?” Doctor Zein inquired.
“In some sense, yes,” Eman replied, his eyes reflecting memories half-lived, half-learnt. “Yet Rashdan did not inherit his crown, he earned it."
"Through the crucibles of battle, diplomacy, and his mastery of higher knowledge, including the elusive teachings of Aramia, he carved a name that could not be ignored."
"It was through merit, not blood, that he was chosen as King of Aramia, his reign ratified by the will of tribes and kingdoms alike.”
Doctor Zein leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed with intrigue, “But my ancestor lived in the desert, didn’t he? How could a man from such a place unite nations?”
Eman’s expression grew solemn. He nodded once, then spoke with the gravity of a historian passing on sacred lore.
“Indeed, Rashdan Al-Ghifari was born amidst the dunes, among windswept plains and burning sands."
"But do not mistake the desert for a wasteland!"
"In those days, the desert thrived with life, home to countless tribes and clans, each governed by its own customs, laws, and quiet rivalries."
"It was a land as rich in spirit as any kingdom of stone and marble.”
He drew a measured breath before continuing, his tone tinged with reverence.
“Rashdan’s journey began amidst the unforgiving vastness of the desert a land as austere as it was shaping. It was from that stern soil that his unyielding spirit was hewn."
"In time, he gained renown as a just arbiter, resolving quarrels among rival tribes with wisdom beyond his years."
"Gradually, his name carried weight, not merely among kin, but across tribal lines, and eventually, across the borders of nations.”
“What truly set him apart was not lineage, but learning. He was a man of letters and languages, of history and strategy."
"His mind was sharpened by teachers from distant realms, east and west alike. He did not fear the unfamiliar, he embraced it, traversing the frontiers of culture and civilisation alike.”
Eman’s gaze settled upon Zein, steady and profound.
“Rashdan did not ascend by wielding force, but by offering a vision, a vision girded by justice and tempered by humility."
"That, more than might, was what drew people to him. That was the soil in which unity first took root.”
Doctor Zein fell into quiet contemplation, then spoke again, his words tinged with unease.
“From what I recall of the histories, the Al-Ghifari were once a tribe of marauders before they embraced the faith.”
Eman inclined his head, his expression calm yet unwavering.
“Indeed,” he said. “In the early chronicles, the Al-Ghifari are recorded as nomads hardened by necessity, survivors of a cruel terrain, some of whom turned to raiding not from malice, but desperation.”
He paused, his voice firm yet dignified.
“But that was a different time. With the arrival of Islam and the slow, deep permeation of its values into their way of life, the tribe began to transform."
"What was once survival became honour. And from honour, leadership was born.”
Eman’s voice took on a deeper cadence, rich with the weight of inherited legend.
“Rashdan was born generations after the first dawning of Islam, into a world where justice, knowledge, and the burden of leadership had already begun to take root."
"Though his tribe once bore the stain of a turbulent past, he did not carry that legacy as a shackle, but rather, he reshaped it into a mantle."
"He stood as living proof that from the harshest origins might emerge a leader capable of reshaping the world.”
Doctor Zein inclined his head, his gaze steady, “Go on, Master,” he urged quietly.
Eman inhaled, slowly and purposefully, before casting a solemn glance at his listeners, Doctor Zein, Zara, and Dadan, all drawn in by the quiet gravity of his tale.
“As a youth, Rashdan possessed not only remarkable physical vigour, but an insatiable hunger for learning."
"He sought out wisdom wherever it could be found. He studied under sages and warriors from across the known world from the scorched sands of Arabia, to the gardens of Persia, and the scholarly courts of India."
"He mastered tongues, unravelled philosophies, charted the intricacies of military strategy, and delved into the mysteries of healing.”
“At the outset, his role was humble. He arbitrated petty disputes between nomadic clans, resolving age-old feuds with a clarity that disarmed even the most vengeful hearts."
"Yet word of his discernment and fairness spread, carried on desert winds and whispered across campfires.”
“One by one, tribal chieftains began to seek his counsel, not only for justice, but for vision."
"And in the span of two short decades, Rashdan had become more than a leader. He had become a lodestar guiding a fractured region into reluctant unity.”
“It was then,” Eman said, his voice quiet but unwavering, “that the great title was bestowed upon him, not through conquest, but through consent."
"A council of venerable scholars and noble houses from across the region gathered, and in one accord, they proclaimed him Malik Aramia, the King of Aramia.”
Eman turned to Zein, meeting his eyes with calm intensity.
“From that moment, the name Al-Ghifari was no longer uttered with derision or dread. It became a banner beneath which justice marched."
"A name that stood for intellect, strength, and righteous governance.”
Doctor Zein's voice was low, thoughtful, “And his power? What made him more than just another wise man?”
Eman nodded, as though anticipating the question. When he spoke again, his tone was almost reverent.
“Rashdan’s strength was not born solely of muscle or sword. It was forged through fire and discipline. He honed his body through trials most men could not endure."
"But beyond that, he cultivated mastery over his own life-force, what we might now call bioenergy. He trained to control breath, nerve, and thought with terrifying precision.”
“He studied ancient disciplines, forgotten arts that spanned continents. From the Persians, he learned to strike like lightning, swift and elusive."
"From Indian sages, he gained command over breath and inner energy. From the unforgiving sands of the desert, he learned to endure to fight with bare hands and blades alike, even when death seemed a heartbeat away.”
Eman paused, then continued in a tone both solemn and wondrous.
“But his most astonishing gift was this, Rashdan could awaken hidden regions within his own nervous system. He could slow his heart, raise his body temperature, react faster than the blink of an eye."
"In battle, he became something otherworldly moving with the lucidity of one whose mind ran faster than time itself.”
“And when injured,” Eman added, “he possessed the rarest of skills, the ability to will his body to heal. Not by magic, but through a deep, cultivated focus, a mastery of physiology that took years of sacrifice to attain.”
“Such power did not come without cost,” he finished softly. “But Rashdan bore it all for the sake of a world he believed could be remade.”
Eman fixed his gaze upon Zein, his voice low and deliberate.
“Much of Rashdan’s art was entrusted to but a handful of chosen disciples, those deemed worthy not merely in strength, but in spirit."
"From them, the knowledge was handed down, one generation to the next, preserved through time like a sacred flame… until at last, it found its way to you.”