Emperor Cleon

Cleon stood on the balcony, breathing in the cool night air of Trantor. Seldon's words stuck in his head like a splinter. Stop cloning? After so many generations? The empire was based on the Cleons, it was not just a custom, but the basis of stability. Dimirzel, as always, calmed down, saying that the old man was delusional. But Cleon felt that something was wrong. He was tormented by vague premonitions, like an impending storm.

He looked up at the star-studded sky. The galaxy seemed so vast and defenseless. The idea of marriage and heirs, of continuing the family line in the traditional way, caused him mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was a duty to the Empire, on the other – a frightening unknown. Cleon was used to predestination, to a cloned existence. To embark on the path trodden by his ancestors seemed like a step into the abyss.

On this day, sitting on the main throne, like Brother Day, Cleon watched the councilors and other visitors. In the evening, the guards brought the thieves. Yes, they tried to steal something from the Palace of the Emperors. And although Dimirzel, Brother Day, and Brother Sunset advised him not to waste time, Cleon became somewhat curious to talk to these scoundrels.