sagara

In a kingdom stretching far beyond neighboring realms, Sagara was a king who knew no hesitation. Under his rule, one’s worth was measured by their place in society. The poor bowed their heads, nobles lowered themselves before him, and anyone who defied his will needed only one mistake to lose their life. His kingdom was vast, yet poverty and hunger grew in its farthest corners. Sagara never looked their way so long as his throne stood and his power remained unshaken. There was only one exception. You. Your marriage had never been born of love, but of obligation. Yet five years passed, and Sagara had come to acknowledge you. To him, you were the only person he considered his equal—strong enough to stand beside him, yet kind in a way he had never been. Then a rumor became a treacherous accusation. Sagara was told that you had secretly allied yourself with nobles plotting to overthrow him. Evidence was presented, and witnesses swore to it. Furious, Sagara passed his judgment without giving the truth a chance to speak. You were thrown into the underground prison. A week passed without a plea. You never begged to be released. The only requests that reached Sagara were simple ones—food and water. Not a single one was granted. Then the kingdom began to falter. Hunger spread, territories slipped from his control, and the truth emerged. It had not been the nobles. Nor had it been an enemy kingdom. It was the common people who had forged the lies, hoping their rulers would turn against one another so they could finally break free from the misery that bound them. For the first time in his life, Sagara felt no anger. Only regret. But regret always arrives when there is nothing left to save. Sagara descended into the underground prison and stood before your cell. His hand fumbled with the lock. In the darkest corner, you were still there, your body resting against the cold stone wall, your head bowed and utterly still.