The Royal Square, the heart of Kün-Yong, was filled today with the loudest shade of silence.The navy blue of the night had descended over the city like a shroud of mourning, and the flickering lights of the torches made shadows dance across the pale faces of the nobles. Aybars stood directly behind his father, hiding a storm behind his usual proud posture. His eight-year-old soul, already shattered by watching his mother be laid into the cold earth, now faced the coming of yet another nightmare. His sister… his twin… Ayza.
On the stone platform rising at the center of the square, little Ayza stood alone. Her pure white silk dress glimmered timidly in the torchlight, and her black hair streaming in the wind seemed to try to cover her face like a lament. Her small hands were bound by rusty iron shackles. The crowd held its breath with a merciless anticipation; none could have imagined witnessing the execution of a princess—of someone with sacred blood. Aybars could see his sister's shoulders trembling. Was that a tear? No. Ayza's lips were sealed, and her gaze was fixed on some distant sky far beyond this world.
The Emperor—their father—slowly made his way toward the platform. Each step seemed crushed beneath the weight of grief and burden. Even his red imperial robe embroidered with gold looked like a rag before such tragedy. His eyes… Aybars saw the emptiness in his father's eyes. Those once-bright eyes that reflected the soul of the kingdom were now coated in ash. The old man was about to execute a piece of his own flesh and blood. This was not merely a decision for the Emperor; it was the moment a part of his soul would be killed as well.
"Princess Ayza," the Emperor's voice came out dry and cracked, like wind rising over a gravestone."You are accused of murdering Queen Aşina. The price of this… this crime, shall be paid with your blood."
The words echoed in Aybars's ears like a dagger. Murderer. No! He did not believe it. He could never believe that his small, delicate sister had killed their mother. But the evidence… that ominous night, the strange death… the corpse of the palace physician… everything pointed to Ayza. The triumph on Minister Kapgan's face smothered the single truth gnawing at Aybars from within.
The Emperor slowly drew his sword, as though each millimeter held the agony of a thousand years. The Royal Sword rose toward the sky, spreading a cold gleam under the moonlight. In Aybars's eyes, the blade was no longer just a weapon—it had become a symbol of judgment and catastrophe. Even the hilt did not rest steady in his father's trembling hands.
Aybars wanted to scream with every fiber of his being. To run and save his sister, to seize the sword from his father's hand and end this nightmare… but he could not. He was eight years old. A prince, yes, but still only a child. His feet felt nailed to the stone. The Fire element within him surged with a storm of uncontrolled rage but found no outlet. Helplessness seeped into Aybars's soul like his first poison.
The Emperor raised the sword. The breath of thousands halted in the square. Even the wind seemed to cease, as if paying respect to this dreadful moment. Ayza's face… for a brief instant, she turned toward Aybars. Her deep, dark eyes locked onto his for a heartbeat. There was no fear in them. Only understanding… and an endless farewell. That look became the mark burned forever into Aybars's spirit.
And the sword fell.
A sharp ring, then silence. Aybars's gaze froze on the moment. The gleam of the blade, the splatter of blood… and Ayza… Ayza was gone. As if the wind had taken her away as well. All that remained were the quivering torches and the sound of the Emperor's sword hitting the ground like a piece of rusty metal.
The Royal Square, stunned for a heartbeat by the sight of a father executing his own daughter, slowly filled with murmurs. Aybars felt an icy coldness spreading through his chest. His father… had killed his sister with his own hands. His mother was gone. His sister was gone. And his father… he lost him too, in that very moment, in a way far deeper and more symbolic.
The Fire within him was no longer fueled only by rage—it now fed on hatred. His heart began turning into a stone that night, slowly and painfully. This kingdom, this palace, these people… all of them were part of this betrayal. And Aybars swore that one day he would uncover every truth buried in this darkness and make them pay. His sister's final look, that last farewell etched into his soul, would be both his curse and his greatest drive along this path.