When he was sixteen, he lay across his imperial uncle's lap. The light and shadows dappled around them, and life was peaceful and beautiful.
When he was eighteen, he stood atop the highest city wall, holding a sharp blade. The land was consumed by war, and his homeland was no more.
When he was twenty-one, he could not make sense of love and hate. He hated him, but he loved him even more.
"Imperial Uncle, give me back a city untouched by sorrow."
