mlm

The Emperor was old—and terrifying not because of his strength, but because of how deeply fear had permeated his power. The people lived with their teeth clenched: executions followed one after another, taxes were stifling, and hope became a luxury.

Until one day everything burst into flames.

Riot tore through the night—screams, fire, blood. The palace fell quickly, almost fatally. That same night, the entire dynasty vanished: the emperor, his concubine, his children. As if they had never existed.

Only Mikar remained.

He entered the empty halls afterward—when the ashes had settled and the rage had subsided. He didn't look for the guilty. He knew: this was the end they'd been leading them to for too long.

Mikar didn't rule with fear. There was a different kind of silence within him—living, stubborn.

But fate decided to test him in a new way, and one day they brought him a prisoner - a young man from distant lands, with a sack on his head.

When the fabric was removed, Mikar froze.

Before him stood a face he knew better than any other.

The face of his dead mother.

His name was Emir.

From then on, Mikar looked at him differently—with care, almost reverence, as if afraid to frighten away the ghost of the past. He idolized him. He showered him with gifts, jewelry, and attention.

At first, Emir didn't understand why this was happening. Why they treated him as if he were the most important person in the palace.

But soon, during one of his walks in the old garden, he found a faded portrait of the empress.

And I saw myself in this portrait.