Past Scene
When Emperor Haryanul died, the royal court was filled with nothing but a dense, suffocating silence. No one knew that this death was not natural—it was planned.
After suffering for a long time, Emperor Haryanul finally died of a physical illness. By the time the common people learned of his death that morning, blood-red sunlight had already risen over the palace banners—the royal bloodline had turned against itself, fighting for the throne.
Then the killings began. Everyone was busy murdering everyone else.
Kayotran, the emperor's youngest nephew, won over generals and governors with money, fear, and poison. He knew one thing well: "Nothing is more loyal than fear."
His first victim was the finest poet of the royal court—because the poet had once said,
"Kayotran's words are sweet, but poison hides in his eyes."
After that, each day became a procession of death. One by one, he murdered every heir of the royal bloodline—some had their throats slit, some had their eyes gouged out, and others were burned alive.
He used to say,
"Let the soul die before the body."
He did not even spare his own brothers. One brother was hung upside down from the edge of the palace roof, while Kayotran said,
"I won't throw you down. I will gift you suffering longer than death."
The people kept their mouths shut and walked with lowered eyes. Across the kingdom echoed the cries of children, the wails of mothers, and the death chants of priests—day and night.
He slaughtered siblings, enemies, even family members. No emotion had any place in his mind—only a horrific hunger for power.
Yet there was one exception—Trishanvita, Emperor Haryanul's daughter, the greatest claimant to the throne. She was only seventeen years old. He did not touch her.
Why?
Because Kayotran harbored a violent, obsessive desire for her.
The scent of Trishanvita's hair, the sound of her footsteps, the calm shadow in her eyes awakened a twisted attraction within him. He would say,
"I will not kill Trishanvita. She is extremely precious. And those who are precious—I preserve them. Fresh, alive, imprisoned. So that only I may watch them breathe… and watch them submit to me."
Trishanvita was the rightful heir to the throne. Kayotran knew very well that the love of the common people and a powerful section of the army still stood with her. That was why he wanted to shape her into a strong political symbol. If one day Trishanvita appeared before the people in support of him, his rule would become unshakeable. He would not have to face war with allied kingdoms.
To Kayotran, Trishanvita was not merely a political rival—she was the embodiment of a dark, growing aggression within him, an unhealthy addiction to proving his ownership over her. He imprisoned her like an object—his property, the emblem of his reign.
The twenty-four-year-old Emperor Kayotran was magical and strikingly handsome, yet his behavior was the complete opposite of his appearance. He was a living demon.
The people feared Emperor Kayotran more than the god of death itself.
In Kayotran's reign, disobeying his command was the greatest crime. The language of punishment was death. Even the slightest question raised against him led to a horrifying end. The law of the kingdom was only one:
"The emperor's will is religion."
The incident occurred in Arvalia—where an old scholar once said,
"On the day Haryanul died, birds did not spread their wings, the sun rose in blood, and a traitor king ascended the throne."
These words reached Kayotran's ears. His response was swift and brutal.
The scholar was tied hand and foot to four powerful horses. Kayotran stood there himself and ordered,
"Run."
The horses bolted in four directions at once. In a moment, the silence swallowed the screams. Blood and body parts scattered across the royal road. The people stood frozen. A shadow of satisfaction curved Kayotran's lips—it was art to him.
---
Some soldiers rebelled against Kayotran.
When he learned of it, they were dragged before him. He said,
"For traitors, I have my royal justice."
A fire was lit beneath a massive wooden platform. The rebel soldiers were tied upside down and slowly lowered toward the flames. Their skin blistered, the stench of burning flesh thickened the air.
In the end, only a pile of ash remained beneath the platform.
---
Kayotran believed fear was born through the eyes, but blood made fear immortal.
He punished the royal officials who had opposed him.
They were bound inside iron cages lined with blades. Every day, sharp iron spikes were placed beneath their feet, slowly piercing their bodies. The torture lasted three days—each day, pieces of their bodies were carved away until nothing remained.
---
The most terrifying punishment, however, was reserved for his own minister—Baladhin.
Baladhin had once been Kayotran's favorite. But he had secretly tried to help Trishanvita escape.
When he was caught, Kayotran said,
"The punishment of the beloved must be unforgettable."
Baladhin was taken to the cremation grounds. He was still alive. His body was thrown into a molten iron vessel meant for the dead. From living flesh rose a scream that echoed through the palace corridors even at night.
---
Across the kingdom, there was only one saying:
"Kayotran never forgives. He only spreads blood."
People did not sleep at night. Children learned to recognize fear before they learned to speak. Mothers lulled their children to sleep not with songs, but with warnings—no matter what happens, the emperor's orders must never be defied.
---
Though Emperor Kayotran destroyed everything, he preserved Trishanvita with meticulous care. Inside the palace, she was given a vast bedchamber filled with fragrant air. She was adorned with throne-worthy jewelry, earth-toned curtains, expensive silk garments, and different maidservants attended to her at all hours of the day.
Yet despite all the external luxury, Trishanvita was a prisoner—a royal swan trapped in a gilded cage.
The emperor was never harsh with her. Whenever he visited, he would sometimes stroke her hair and ask softly,
"How are you, Trishanvita?"
She remained silent, but within her grew an unbearable rage—a quiet fire of vengeance.
Behind Kayotran's so-called affection lay a twisted, intricate plan.
Kayotran's mental state was deeply disturbed. In his mind, Trishanvita was an obsession that gradually took a grotesque form. He viewed her as his property—someone without will, freedom, or voice. Controlling her was the only peace his diseased mind knew. He never wanted her to be free—he wanted to imprison her forever in his silent captivity.
He knew he could not marry Trishanvita to bind her to himself. They were siblings, and socially and politically such a union was forbidden. Kayotran could even lose his throne.
At the same time, he did not want Trishanvita to marry any prince from another kingdom.
Yet by royal law, it was mandatory for Kayotran to find a husband for his princess sister. Failing to do so would invite opposition from allied kingdoms and royal officials.
To avoid conflict, Kayotran devised a plan—he filled Trishanvita's bedchamber with countless servants.
Their purpose was not service—but sexual slavery.
Rumors spread throughout the palace:
"Trishanvita's chamber houses hundreds of beautiful young men who obey her every command and pleasure her in bed."
The number of servants in a princess's chamber exceeded even the number of a king's concubines. The rumor was spread so convincingly that it appeared proven and true.
Across all kingdoms, the news traveled:
"Princess Trishanvita keeps countless male slaves in her bedchamber who constantly serve her."
As a result, no king or crown prince wished to marry her.
Kayotran's intention was subtle—by creating this 'disgraced' image, he rendered Trishanvita politically powerless. So that no one would think of marrying her. So that no one would attempt to rescue her. So that Kayotran alone would remain the center of the kingdom.
Trishanvita was never allowed to go outside. Beyond the high palace walls lay freedom—visible to the eyes, but burning in the heart.
To be continued…