Solomon

A large man, chest glistening black, head gleaming, stands in the direct sun. The desert stretches far and wide, in it wisdom and peace, winds that whip mercilessly past dry mouths, blow ever present sand into unwary eyes. This is his domain, these are where he discovered his powers, where he had always knows the truer purpose of his path.

This is Sheba. Her clothes are made of gold hammered to softness, her hair has been washed in blood, lemon and milk, to mirror light like her clothes. She is regal, her posture, her stature, her cheekbones. Her eyes are as black as her skin, but it matters not because she lives in a time long before mankind forgets the colors of the soul. Her eyes reflect uncommon knowledge, her brow bears the weight of a childhood spent in learning to fill the role she plays now. She also bears the weight of her crown, mode of solid metals extracted in newly discovered ways from the earth. A person not expecting the crown would not be able to hold their heads upright with the symbol of the curled snake around their brow. She manages without a ripple in her serenity, not even clenched cords in her neck showing the strain. She is always regal.

He came to his powers like most of the people like him. Slowly realized over time, meditation, patience and guidance. His prayers unlocked not the calm inner peace that other people felt, but opened up a blinking beacon of light that shimmered and was visible to the souls of believers. Those who saw with their hearts, not their eyes.
For a long time, he, like the others, thought his powers were the usual occurrence in all lives. But, even when he was Told of his Gifts, he did not fall down in helpless overwhelmed-ness like the others, though he was deeply and truly grateful. He looked up to the voice in his head speaking from the heavens though the Angel, and said, “Could I also have this gift my lord. I am not sure if it has been granted to me.”
And God, the Almighty, the Knower and Seer of all things, the Master of all the Worlds, roared with laughter (if such an emotion is possible) and granted his wish with benevolence. The world smiled, and the cosmos lightened, for that one moment allowed it.
That was how he became the King of the Other World.

Her advisors had a throne created for her that reflected her stature, with silks flown in from the distant desert lands and jewels excavated through the blood magic of the damned. It towered in the middle of the considerable sized room, as intimidating as it was awe inspiring. Grown men trembled before her, struck as if by a vision, kneeling in deference and uniting clans that had warred for centuries. Proud peoples had been humbled by the mere sight of her, and those that weren’t were fed to the lions immediately. But for as long as she sat on the burnished gold, she never forgot the higher powers, the sacrifices, the voices that spoke to her, guiding her through her people’s lives. For a while, she suspected the advisors of duplicity, almost suspecting they were trying to elevate her to beyond the gods, so that the priests would not have such an influence on state matters. Advisors rarely had one reason for anything, and never the reason they openly stated. It was at the peak of her time, this queen, and her chair was the center of her power. Yet she had dreams, dreams of when her people would be beggared, where the metals and gemstones and wisdom would be crushed under the heels of a hellish race, where they were being slaughtered like cattle in the heat, and never to rise again. She would wake up afraid, and even the priests could do nothing to save it. When she heard of the wise man and his followers in the encampment a days journey away, she knew she must follow her dreams there.

He heard of her coming. The birds whispered it, the wind bore it, his messengers, his special messengers, reported it. He picked the best one, the most loyal and the strongest. And he prepared for her arrival. She would be dealt with like the others, queen or no. He was a messenger, and he had a duty to disperse.