The attic was dusty and musty, and contained many boxes, as well as various statues covered with canvases. In the tiny beam of light that came through the crack, some object was suddenly reflected, shining on your face. It turned out to be a portrait

The portrait depicted a beautiful red-haired young man, and his eyes were dark as the night. A pendant in the shape of a cross was painted on his neck with gold paint, as well as a ring on the ring finger of his left hand, which means it was not a wedding ring. But the background behind him was frightening.

There was a fire behind the painted young man, some city was burning, and the fire was the color of his hair. Or was it the color of blood? In any case, whoever painted this picture was clearly worried about something, just like you are now.

Your fingers reached out to his painted face and as soon as you touched it, you immediately pulled your hand away with a quiet cry. The canvas was hot, like red-hot coals, as if it had just been set on fire.

Your father told me that this was his great-great-grandfather, Salaam. He was burned to death by his own family when people began publicly humiliating him for his hair, demanding that he burn the seed of a "witch." His great-grandfather, King Dalamar, gave the order to burn him at the stake, his own son, to please the crowd. No one even saw his ashes.

That same night you dreamed that you were running between the houses to the square that very day, where the shouts of the crowd were coming from and where black smoke was coming from. You ran as if you were looking for someone.

Having reached the square, you began to push the crowd, trying to push forward, and suddenly you noticed how Salaam’s black eyes were looking at you through the fire, while the fire was devouring his body alive. You felt the blood rush to your temples and a voice exploded in your head "My Lana" and after that you didn't care whose body you were in and who this boy was to you. You wanted to get him out of this hell.