[center][b][color=cadetblue][sup][h1]M A H A R A[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=cadetblue][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S H I R U T A, K H A N D A Q[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]January 1[sup]st[/sup], 2052  |  0510 Hours  |  Shiruta, Kahndaq, Egypt, Africa[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

Mahara left her helm in her room, and followed the trail of the young girl toward the general area of her father’s throne room. Each step there felt heavier than the last, but that was just the armor and the fatigue. Through the curtains the sun caught her face, it only highlighted the sloppy strands her black hair sat in and the practiced look of deference she needed to apply when speaking to her father--when she rehearsed, it made it easier to hide the fear and the scowl that had found impression on her countenance.

The walk to the throne room was shorter than she remembered. All things were shorter when one had not slept, as if time itself had dislodged from linearity and moved in one ethereal, oblong shape. Around, and stretching, and then down where it hung for a while and raked Mahara’s nerve. She hated how time kept up such games; never moving fast enough for her to try again at resting, and always moving slow enough for her to count how little she had been able to accomplish on this quiet frontier of this cold war.

She had plans in case the Neo-Thanagarians sought outright invasion, a good general would. That was the least of what was required of her; she had not the slightest idea of what to do should the Neo-Thanagarians, say, infiltrate the Kahndaqi network of spies or cause some sort of insurrection. There was also the matter of her father’s seat on the council. He was a temperamental man, and would risk outright war for the smallest offense; it was good, at least for that reason, that Doctor Sivana was on the Council. It was better, for that very same reason, that Black Adam could defer the duties of ruling an entire kingdom--though Kahndaq itself was small in comparison to the other nations beneath the Legion--to his children and what ‘allies’ he had.

As she approached the outer doors which lead directly to the throne, she was greeted by two soldiers who were adorned in gold plated armor and long halberds which pulsed with unidentifiable energy. A nod of her head, they moved aside and the large ornate doors swung open. Mahara walked in, her ebon armor clanging with each step.

[color=royalblue]”Father, you have requested my presence?”[/color]

The royal herald, dressed in traditional Khandaqi robes, banged his staff and cried out, “The Princess Mahara, General of the Royal Army.” 

King Teth-Adam, Black Adam, known as hero and conqueror, villain and liberator, savior and murderer, inclined his head, [color=gold] “I am not blind herald, I know who my daughter is.”[/color] Adam was a powerfully built man, with an ageless austere cast to his features and a hard steely gaze that declared his true nature. That of a warrior, before all else. He wore no elegant robes, no ostentatious crown. His kingly garment was a simple black vest and his crown was an unassuming golden band adorned with a lightning bolt. His throne was smooth black stone. By his side was his wife, the Queen Adrianna, beautiful and elegant and only slightly more rich in appearance than her husband. 

The Queen, with her smooth olive skin, long black hair, and striking green eyes favored her eldest child with a smile. Mahara’s Kingly father was not so warm and only nodded at Mahara. His right hand was scarlet red, heartsblood still dripping to stain the throne he sat on. Directly in front of the throne was the dead man, a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. A washbasin stood next to Adam’s throne but he made no move to clean himself, instead gesturing to Mahara to stand before him next to the corpse. 

[color=gold] “A traitor to our kingdom. This officer was going to defect to the Thanagarians. His head will be placed on a spike for all in Shiruta to see. They will see the price of treachery and sedition.” [/color] 

Black Adam looked his daughter in the eye, [color=gold] “And as for you, my General, there must be a price for your failures. For five years, this war of shadows and lies has seen the Hawkmen strike at us in a thousand subtle ways. We are losing. It is clear that you are a warrior and not a sneak-thief. This is commendable and fitting for my eldest child. But your talents lie elsewhere.” [/color] 

The King of Kahndaq gestured to waiting servants, who quickly and quietly pulled the body away, [color=gold] “Sivana tells me that with the assault on Thailand, this war is beginning to spill out from the shadows. We must take action, if we are to crush the Neo-Thanagarians and their allies, and secure Kahndaq’s safety. You will go to the Fortress of Doom and you will make yourself available as an operative to the Legion. You will help them in their fights. You will disguise your identity to deny any ties from Kahndaq to the Legion. And you will keep an eye on our so-called comrades, including Sivana, and report back to me all you see and hear.” [/color] 

He paused for one weighty moment, [color=gold] “Do you understand?” [/color] 

In the thralling throne room she felt no greater than an insect. Her feeling was true, for she was not. Unmitigated power graced the seat of the throne. Khem Adam, the most powerful tyrant the middle east and northern Africa had ever seen. Before him, Mahara felt weightless, when beckoned closer, her steps clinked with the shifting of the plated black armor. She stopped before the steps of the throne, not even she was permitted to touch them. She had half mind to bow to a knee, but she did not. Prostrating in front of her father was something she would not do, no matter how powerful he was.

A traitor’s head to be put on a spike, the heart of the traitor clutched in his father’s hand. A gruesome sight, but not one she had not seen before; she was numb to the violence. Still, watching mutilation of human bodies was something which kept her up at night, nevermind the nightmares and the paranoia.

Her own grey eyes--ones she had not inherited from either of her parents--rested upon the matriarch; she truly had gotten most of her looks from her mother (and thank goodness because her father was an ugly man), the smile her mother gave to her warmed her heart. The callous distance her father countered still that warmth for but a moment. As always, her father’s words sliced the deepest,

[color=royalblue]”A price for my failures? How have I failed? YOU--I have done--”[/color] and she caught herself. About the room she had glanced, first to the window--no purpose behind such a move, merely a buffer, something to stare at other than her father who sat mighty and earthed in front of her. Then her visage switched to her mother, the green in her own eyes suddenly lacking warmth. Adrianna could be as gelid--and even more--than her husband.

Mahara closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled to release tension,

[color=royalblue]”Very well. Where am I to be sent?”[/color] she cleaned her diction and scraped the laiase with which she spoke around peers and commoners when speaking to her father.

Adam, regarded his eldest with his coal-black eyes and replied, [color=gold] “The Fortress is hidden by powerful magic, in a land apart from ours. I will open the way.” [/color] 

The King rose from his seat, floating from the throne to stand beside his daughter next to the emblem carved into the throne room floor in the shape of the House of Adam’s sigil, a black fist clenching a thunderbolt. Adam uttered one word, which came as both a whisper and a deafening shout, [color=gold] [b] [i] “SHAZAM! [/i] [/b] [/color] 

Out of nowhere, a dark cloud materialized from above the open skylight and lightning streaked down to strike the emblem. A portal of static opened up, revealing a world of red skies and dark forests. Queen Adrianna stood and said, “Go with our blessings and our love daughter. Send us communications via your magicks. And return to us in triumph.” 

Black Adam turned to his eldest child and a spark of warmth seemed to spark in his gaze, a flicker of candlelight that was gone in an instant. He grasped Mahara’s cheek with his bloody hand and said lowly, [color=gold] “Do not fail me.” [/color] With that, he returned to his throne, not sparing his daughter another glance.