Sultan Kazir had ruled the Pajar Sultanate for thirty-two years. And at the same time, without a doubt, he was an enemy of the empire.0

"I greet the Sultan," Caron said, lowering his head as he kneeled on one knee.0

A moment of silence passed before a rough, weathered voice filled the chamber. "Caron Leston, the youngest of the Ducal Family of Leston—raise your head."0

At the command, Caron slowly lifted his gaze.0

Seated upon the throne was a man of small stature, his face concealed beneath a golden mask. Only his white hair, peeking over the edges of the mask, was visible. From time to time, a cough rattled from his throat, which was a clear sign that his health was failing.0

And yet, despite his frailty, the Sultan radiated an undeniable presence. It was the dignity of a ruler, a weight that made those before him shrink instinctively.0

But Caron met his gaze without hesitation, his posture unwavering.0

The Sultan let out a low chuckle and said, "What an interesting young man. I especially like those eyes of yours. I hear you are seventeen years old this year, is that right?"0

"Yes, Your Majesty," Caron replied.0

"I find that hard to believe. No mere seventeen-year-old should have eyes that dark and deep," the Sultan remarked.0

From behind the mask, his obsidian-like eyes gleamed for a fleeting moment. Then, he fell silent, watching Caron intently. After what felt like an eternity, he lifted a hand and gestured toward Nadia.0

"Nadia, return his confiscated belongings," the Sultan...0