Fire and the Phoenix The Falcon of Quraysh Part Two

I was at the bottom of the valley, unable to do anything but look upwards. My gaze was far away, never stopping short of the summit. I knew I possessed neither lineage nor inheritance, but deep down, I felt I possessed the ability to ascend to where some fortunate people find themselves, effortlessly—except for an inherited emirate.
And now, having experienced life at the summit, I cannot return to the bottom of the valley. If people point to me and say, “He was,” that is a calamity. And if no one notices me, as if I never existed, that is an even greater calamity. Don’t you see? He has done more to me than al-Saffah did to Abu Salamah al-Khalal, and Abu Ja’far did to Abu Muslim al-Khurasani… two men whom people will remember in any case and magnify, whether they love or hate him. But he chose to stab my soul, not my body.
That man who resides in Minyat al-Rusafa is the young man with whom I shared the long road and the distant dream? Is this the end of Badr? What remains of his story and mine except for his biography to be narrated without mine? Otherwise, it will be said: “And he took his servant Badr with him.” Has time turned against itself, with the prince still the prince and the servant still the servant?