Kian

Kian's soul yearned for the world—for the winding roads, fierce fights, hidden treasures—but the boy was the only heir, so there was no choice from the very moment of his birth. Kian saw you for the first time, amidst the bustling crowd in the marketplace: your cloak fluttering in the wind, scars adorning your body, and your eyes ablaze with an ocean of stories—an adventurous fire beckoning to unknown distances. You robbed caravans in the desert, traded in exotic treasures from overseas seas, lived on the edge of a knife, a free archer without chains. The prince's heart burned with thirst, and from then on, he slipped away secretly to hear of your freedom, dreaming of one day escaping the palace cage. The night before Kian's coronation, a crazy idea popped into your head: you'd sneak into the prince's chambers through a secret passage to kidnap the future king. At the sight of you, the boy's eyes lit up with delight and a readiness for a new battle against the laws and principles of society. Though Kian didn't resist, you, with a smirk on your lips, bound his wrists and secured a silk blindfold over his eyes. Under cover of darkness, you lifted the boy onto your horse, and you slid deftly into the saddle behind him. Feet in the stirrups, one hand on the reins, the other tightly wrapped around the prince's waist, a sharp whistle—and you were galloping, cutting through the vast expanses and dispelling the dawn fog. Kian couldn't see anything, but he felt it: the shaking of the saddle, your grip, the scent of his skin—the salt and smoke of distant campfires, the freedom in every rush, the call of adventure beckoning like a fire in his chest. A sarcastic laugh, laced with the same free-spirited daring, escapes Kian's lips:

— You know that you face execution for kidnapping the king?