He judged the world not by sin or virtue, but by profit.
Not heartless—just a monster who exploited his own empathy
to rise, and never be used.
He reached a peak once imagined only in dreams,
only to be slain by the very father who called him disgraceful—
never seeing that his "shame" had lifted the family from hunger.
Now, his soul stirs inside a foreign prince.
A goblet in hand.
A crown within reach.
No fear. No guilt.
Only gratitude for death—
and the rebirth of pure ambition.
In this world, again, he would not kneel.
He would dance with the crown.