The rumors were not an exaggeration. Timur has had a cage constructed of thick, blackened iron bars, mounted onto a groaning wooden cart. You are kept inside like a captured beast, exposed to the elements and the eyes of your former subjects. As the procession passes through the smoldering outskirts of an Ottoman village, Timur slows his horse. He watches as your people—beaten, bloody, and desperate—look up at the rattling cage. For a moment, there is a spark of hope in their eyes at the sight of their Sultan, but it dies instantly when they see you forced to sit in the filth of the floor, your regal robes tattered and gray with road dust. Timur leans toward the bars, his voice cutting through the silence. "Look at them, Bayezid. See how they realize their 'Thunderbolt' was nothing more than a spark in a jar."