"Sun Calendar, Year 775 the twenty fourth day after the passing of King Al Haddad.
I am the High Priest so they have called me ever since I ascended the temple's summit and carved my path through the Gates of Secrets.
My footsteps make no sound as I pass through the corridors of the Temple of the High Suns,
yet all recognize me by the trace of ancient incense that clings to me wherever I go in the early morning.
I take refuge in my incantations at the altars of the sun and seek clarity.
Many say I can commune with the gods,
that my voice can bind this world with a word woven from light no eye can see.
They say it reaches the ears of the Great Sun and I have not denied them.
For I have always felt my soul dwells closer to the spirits than to the living."
"I was a young man then
a promising servant of the temples, chanting hymns drawn from memories passed down by the ancient priests.
With my head bowed before King Al Haddad,
who too held a singular reverence in the hearts of the people.
No priest nor sage dared challenge the glory of the 'Son of the Sun,'
a man whose spirit seemed to descend from the heavens to gather the tribes of Sheba beneath his wing.
That day, I witnessed devotion to the royal aura overwhelm all else
the temple itself appeared no more than a dim shadow retreating behind the throne.
Did Al Haddad truly surpass me in spiritual depth?
Or were the people simply dazzled by his brilliance?
I cannot say for certain, but I was seized by the feeling
that the king's aura extended far beyond his declared dominion
as if my presence, though I was the High Priest,
was not enough to claim the center of the spiritual realm.
Though he granted me a lofty station,
I continued to feel the weight of an unyielding wall
keeping me from fully ascending to true spiritual authority."
And now… Al Haddad is gone his body vanished from this world. My prayers still rise within the temple walls, but his spirit no longer lingers in the air as it once did. The experience is as bitter as it is alluring, as though I am stepping onto sands that have lifted a weight from my chest. That greater shadow has departed. Will the temple now be allowed to rise? It was a thought that surfaced quietly in my mind, one I never intended to let spread. Yet I cannot deny that I see in it a bold ambition: for the spiritual center to shift from a royal figure in whom the divine and the throne were united, to the High Priest, who is devoted solely to the service of the Sun. Is this not the truer order in the eyes of the gods? It is a question I have found myself asking in silence ever since the passing of Al Haddad
Then Balqis ascended the throne. To me, she was nothing more than an ambitious daughter who had not inherited the full spiritual might of Al Haddad, as I had seen it in him. She lacked the presence cloaked in divine majesty, and her words did not Touch the sacred nerve at the heart of the Sun's rites. I believed I could steer the course if only in whispers so that the temple would come to hold the final word. But no one dared speak of such things openly. That desire had always been veiled in a cloak of sanctity: "Preserving tradition," they said, "and guiding a woman's rule under the blessing of the priests."
A few days ago, I heard whispers repeating the rumor of the queen's secret disappearance from the capital. Some claimed she had entered a spiritual seclusion, mourning Al Haddad. Others insisted she had departed on a journey unknown even to the Grand Vizier himself. No official statement was released to dispel the rumors, and so the gossip spilled into the palace corridors. But instead of the expected unrest, I observed a quiet growing like a dark cloud drawing near. Perhaps this is my chance. If Balqis is truly absent, then no one remains with the spiritual authority to claim the people's loyalty… but me.
I gradually began to raise the tone of my discourse. I deliberately spoke with certain tribal elders those who had grown uneasy with a woman's unrestrained authority voicing an opinion that did not openly declare me as one seeking power, but firmly emphasized that spiritual counsel could not be separated from governance. And I found listening ears. Talks began to spread about the need for a "religious guardianship" over a woman's throne, so that she might not rule unchecked, without sacred oversight. Though I wrapped my words in cryptic verses, I would not be surprised if many had sensed a deeper intention in my heart. Still, the mask of sanctity allows me to speak freely no one dares openly challenge the priest.
Amid this charged atmosphere, I heard shocking news last night: Balqis has returned to the Temple of the Sun in secret. The revelation shook me to my core I had assumed her absence would stretch on, allowing my position to solidify further. But now, an inexplicable tightness grips my chest. Could I be ill? Has she returned with renewed faith or worse, bearing a document that might reignite the spark of the Sun's blood? At times, I even wonder if she embarked on a mission to uncover secrets older than Al Haddad's reign, ones that might grant her a spiritual power beyond mine. I want to dismiss these thoughts, to call them irrational, but their echo grows louder each time I remember how her father grounded his rule in hidden secrets that transcended my texts and scroll.
Within me, I resist. "I am the High Priest the helmsman and guardian of the temple. My word is heard at the navel of the earth." This is how I justify it to myself that I hold the keys to the gods' path, more so than Balqis's throne, which is, in the end, nothing but a worldly tool. Why should I not be the source of light, while she is but a pale shadow of my ambition?