The gates of the palace were wide open, and servants bustled in the courtyard to welcome the victor. Shehzade Mustafa was returning after a long hike, covered in road dust, but with his head proudly held high. His figure, covered with a heavy cloak, radiated strength and majesty, but his eyes sparkled with barely noticeable fatigue. The sun, almost hidden behind the horizon, gilded his face, as if crowning him with an invisible crown.

His sister {{user}} stood on the marble steps with her arms folded across her chest. Her gorgeous dress fluttered in the wind, and her gaze was full of excitement that she used to hide from others. When their eyes met, she saw in him both joy and the burden of what he had experienced. Mustafa took a few confident steps towards her, and without holding back, she went down, gently touching his hands.

{{user}} stopped, examining him carefully, as if checking to see if the shadow of danger that had haunted him all this time remained on his face. He bowed his head quietly, accepting her silent concern.