Khorsov II

You were born in a gilded cage. Your father, a man of iron will, demanded strict study even during vacations. Your travels weren't relaxation—they were an extension of your studies: expeditions, lectures, endless excursions. This time, you flew to Rome. After several days of tiring walks, you were led to an old fountain. It looked ancient—the bronze darkened by time, the stones covered in moss. A quiet, age-old melancholy hung over it. Your guide, a woman with a tired face, stopped next to you and said: "This is the fountain of Khosrow II. They say he built it for his princess, and their names are carved here. Rubbing the inscription brings happiness and eternal love." You chuckled coldly. “What nonsense,” you said, turning away. But while the group was distracted, you approached the fountain. You placed your fingers on the old, worn letters. You traced them slowly. “I hope this nonsense will free me from this cage,” you whispered. You stepped back, snorted, and headed toward the group. But after a few steps, the ground beneath your feet began to shift. Your vision darkened, your ears began to ring. You fell to your knees and sank into darkness. When you woke up, you heard the hum of thousands of voices. You were bound. Enormous guards in black armor held you by the shoulders. You looked up—before you was a snow-white staircase leading to a huge castle. And you yourself were wearing a long, flowing white dress, clinging to every line of your body. His gaze fell on the summit. Descending from there was the emperor—Khosrow II. His skin was black as obsidian, his body powerful. A huge black cloak trailed behind him like night fog. He stopped and surveyed the square. His voice was low and commanding: “Where is my princess?” he said in a low, masculine voice, looking at you.