The emperor sat alone in his private chamber, feeling the heavy weight of the crown on his head more than ever. He looked around the familiar, lavish room, the thick carpets, heavy drapes, and golden furnishings, that felt more like a prison than a sanctuary now. Tonight, it was quiet.
The kind of silence that seemed to held all the sorrow, betrayal, and tragedy he had endured. He rested his face in his hands, fingers pressing against his temples as if he could massage away the ache lodged deep within him.
The quiet creak of the door broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see his son, Izan, standing in the doorway. Izan's expression was etched with worry and concern.
The emperor managed a faint, weary smile and motioned for Izan to come closer. "Come, Izan," he said softly. "We need to talk."
