In the middle of the growing crowd, Malik stepped confidently onto the podium that had been prepared in the center of Samsara's town square. The chimes of the city's bell tower rang in succession, marking that the hour of judgment had come.
Malik stood tall, his black robe fluttering in the evening breeze. Around him, hundreds of eyes watched—some with admiration, others with fear hidden behind their cheers.
He raised his right hand high, calling for silence. The cheering slowly faded, replaced by the restless murmurs of a people waiting for their ruler's speech.
"I know…" Malik began, his voice deep and controlled. "Many of you don't like me. I know exactly what my reputation is."
He stepped forward once, locking eyes with the crowd as if piercing into their hearts. "Directly, I took the throne through rebellion. And to some of you, I may appear to be a dictator."
