Noon had fallen upon the city like a sentence.
The sky, clear and blue, seemed to hold its breath. The sun poured down upon the central square, overflowing with people: balconies, rooftops, windows, and streets had become a human ocean, all gathered to witness that instant destined for eternity.
The murmur filling the air shattered when a metallic sound tore through the silence.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The clash of chains announced his arrival.
The most wanted man—the translator of forbidden secrets—advanced, escorted by soldiers. Yet it was not they who commanded respect, but he himself. His steps were slow and steady, as if each one marked the heartbeat of the world. With every stride, the crowd's clamor faded, until the entire square fell silent.
The guards did not shove him, nor hurry him along. No one dared. He walked chained, but not broken. The wind toyed with his hair and stirred the worn cloak brushing against the ground. The sun bathed his face, and all saw him clearly: he was not a convict on his way to the gallows, but a king accepting his destiny.
He climbed the steps of the platform. Each creak of the wood struck the expectant hearts of the crowd. At the top, the executioners waited, rigid, unable to meet his gaze.
He stopped at the center and looked at the stool, placed like an improvised throne. With solemn calm, he sat. The jingling of chains accompanied the movement. Then he raised his hands, gently shook his wrists, and spoke:
"Adjust this."
His voice, deep and clear, resounded through the air.
The executioners glanced at one another, hesitant.
"A little looser," he added with a faint smile. "You wouldn't want my final posture to be uncomfortable, would you?"
One of the guards, trembling, obeyed. He loosened the cuffs just enough for him to move his hands. The prisoner nodded slightly, like a monarch satisfied with the obedience of his subjects.
The silence weighed upon all. No one dared speak... until an anonymous voice burst from the crowd:
"Hey!" someone shouted among thousands. "Tell us! Is it true you left everything in that place? That the promised name also remains there?"
The echo of the question spread like thunder. At once, every gaze fixed on the prisoner. Time itself seemed to halt.
He smiled. Not with mockery, but with the serenity of one who had awaited this moment his entire life. His eyes lifted toward the sky, and then his voice, powerful and unshakable, thundered across the square:
"I left everything in that place... seek it, and you shall find it."
A murmur surged through the multitude like a restrained lightning bolt. The executioners tensed. The guards swallowed hard. The thousands gathered held their breath, the spark of ambition burning in their eyes.
Then, with a roar that tore through streets and hearts alike, he declared:
"Whoever finds it... will be the King!"
The square erupted. Screams, sobs, laughter, and shouts intertwined like a hurricane. In a single instant, his voice had ignited an era.
The chained man smiled one last time. He was no longer a prisoner before the crowd: he was the sovereign who had gifted the world an eternal flame.
And just before the executioner fulfilled his duty, his final words rose like a roar that sealed history:
"Now... the problem is no longer mine. It's yours."
The silence shattered into a thousand pieces.
The square became a whirlwind of screams and chaos.
The world had changed.
The truth had been delivered.
The simple words of that man thundered forth a new era that was only just beginning.