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The mystical continent of Nooristana teeters on the brink of war. As the enemy forces prepare to attack, Queen Numaira of Amruthsthaan stands alone between peace and chaos, anxiously awaiting r...
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the dense forest that bordered Amarabad.
The soft rustling of leaves whispered through the towering trees, and the distant sound of flowing rivers carried on the evening breeze.
But as Amir and Vikram approached the gates of the city, an unsettling stillness filled the air, as if the very life of the land had been drained away.
Their weary entourage rode in silence, the horses' hooves muffled by the soft earth and fallen leaves.
A deathly hush blanketed the landscape, broken only by the occasional snap of twigs underfoot and the distant cawing of crows, circling ominously above.
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Amir's heart tightened at the sight before him.
The city that once thrived with bustling markets and lush gardens now lay in eerie ruin. The scent of wet earth, mixed with the acrid stench of smoke and decay, filled the air, a cruel reminder of the devastation that had taken hold in their absence.
Vikram slowed his horse beside Amir, his voice low with disbelief. "What has happened to our city?"
Amir's gaze swept over the silent streets. Where merchants once peddled their wares and children chased each other through the alleyways, only empty stalls and debris remained.
Amir dismounted from his horse, his legs unsteady as he took in the sight. His chest felt tight, the weight of guilt and grief pressing down on him.
"This can't be real," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
The grand arches of the mosque rose in the distance, their once-pristine domes cracked and damaged. Pieces of mosaic tile glittered like broken promises, scattered along the pathways.
As Amir and Vikram ventured deeper into the heart of Amarabad, the devastation grew worse.
The houses, nestled between the greenery that embraced the city, were now little more than charred skeletons. Furniture lay in heaps on the streets, waterlogged and warped. Windows, shattered by violence, framed the lifeless interiors of homes.
A small group of survivors emerged hesitantly from the shadows. Their faces were hollow with grief, their eyes sunken and empty.
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