I listened to the voices proclaiming the time of destruction was near. I sought to escape the mournful faces of the people by shutting myself away in the court, mingling with those who wore false smiles. Yes, I fled—from the responsibilities and duties that had been entrusted to me.
What did it mean to be royalty? Royal blood alone could not define it. Its value was proven only through actions worthy of that blood, through deeds that bore the weight of its legacy.
The moment the capital was besieged was no different.
If I had not witnessed that one person stand up amidst the despair, at the very brink of the end, I would still be the same today. I still remember. The sight of a young boy, his cheeks yet unthinned by time, climbing atop the city walls. His small fists clenched tightly as he braced himself to confront the madness of the battlefield.
Yet even seeing that, my aimless wandering did not end. My soul, weary from indulgence, felt as though it could never rise again. Perhaps it was because I believed that even that brilliant child would ultimately be crushed under the weight of inevitable ruin.
Such were those days. Days filled with such emptiness…
A boy, who should have been cared for and protected by others, stepped onto the battlefield. The lost lands were reclaimed, one by one, through the efforts of a child who deserved to be sheltered.
At a time when he should have felt warmth, he instead carried a cold blade buried in his chest. Because no one else dared to bear the heavy burdens that someone must shoulder, a boy barely ten years old had no choice but to take them up himself.
His naturally gentle nature was shattered, replaced by the persona of a ruler.
It was only then that I truly realized how pathetic I had been.
How immense was the sin of the adults, who left all the duties they should have borne to a mere child. I wept for a long time. The reality of the empire, so fallen and miserable, and the weight of the harsh fate my younger brother carried—it all left me in despair. Yet, after shedding all those tears, I found a resolution in my heart.
I must do it, too.
I can do it, too…
I must have felt disappointment and betrayal toward my younger brother, who sought to solve everything on his own. But at this moment, I realized who truly tried to shoulder everything alone. The pride I once felt for him had, at some point, turned into envy, and the sincere desire to walk alongside him had twisted into something far more selfish.
Now that I understand what I did wrong, I won’t deny the desires harboured in this soul. I wanted to stand above my brother. I couldn’t bear to be the older sibling who fell short. That inferiority complex spurred me on.
Yes.
…It was I who sought to stand alone.
“Was I bewitched by the thousand years of history tied to the emperor’s throne?”
The grand plan to fracture the Ottoman Empire had collapsed due to a misjudgment of the enemy’s capabilities. Now that even the fragile peace has crumbled, all that protects the capital are the triple walls painstakingly built by past emperors.
What remains of the empire is nothing more than Morea, ruled by my younger brother. No matter how glorious Constantinople may be—the city of cities, the ancient heart of the thousand-year empire—it has its limits, leaving me with only a deep sense of futility.
Can someone who rules over nothing but the space within the closed city gates truly call himself an emperor?
It was only after being pushed to this point that I grasped the reality my brother and the sultan had known all along. Yet despite this, the sultan marched upon Constantinople, and my brother would undoubtedly come north to save the city if I requested reinforcements.
The reason was simple: Constantinople is the last symbol that allows the empire to claim it is still Rome, the final fragment preserving its identity.
My brother, knowing this, had no choice but to engage in a hopeless battle to protect that last fragment!
“…..”
A muffled cry escaped through my tightly clenched lips. No matter how hard I closed my eyes, I couldn’t suppress the overwhelming anguish. When had everything gone wrong? Was it from the moment I first desired to stand alongside him? Was my incompetence and my audacious passion the true beginning of all these mistakes? And yet, I soon realized that even this train of thought was rooted in my own ugly sense of inferiority.
A hollow laugh slipped out.
I needed to recall my original, pure desire.
To do so, I revisited the memory deeply engraved in my mind. The moment when, in the face of despair and resignation, a young boy stood tall and marched forward. The instant when his round, wandering eyes began to blaze with determination. The sight of him lifting the burdens of “responsibility” and “duty” that everyone else had cast aside… and the reason I rose to my feet back then.
Little by little, the feelings from that moment began to vividly resurface.
I wanted to ease the weight my brother carried. Knowing how lonely a road it was to walk alone, I wanted to become a companion to walk beside him. Countless words could be used to describe these feelings, but in the end, the answer was just one.
“…I wanted to be his strength.”
How is it that only now I’ve realized how useless a throne is when it is occupied by only one?
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