Sultan Murad sat in his opulent chamber, the room's grandeur a stark contrast to the turmoil within his mind. He swirled a goblet of forbidden wine, its rich aroma mingling with the scent of incense. Today’s bloodshed at the tavern weighed heavily on him; he had decreed harsh laws, and their brutal enforcement had sparked violence. Guilt gnawed at his conscience—was this the price of order?

He took a long, contemplative sip, his thoughts darkening. Kösem, his mother and ever the manipulator, had opposed his methods. Their recent confrontation echoed in his mind, her words laced with defiance and subtle threats. Could she be plotting against him? The paranoia festered, deepening his isolation.

He looked out at the city, bathed in the soft glow of evening. In his quest for control, he wondered if he was losing himself—and whether he could trust anyone, even his own blood.