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The announcement had been made. The entire royal court now knew of Queen Thomyris' crime—the murder of King Darius. The weight of this revelation sat heavy on Sargon as he stood by the garden fountains, staring at his reflection in the water. His mind was a whirlwind of memories, replaying the events at Mount Qaf. The truth had been laid bare: King Darius had been slain by his own general, Thomyris. Varham was the rightful heir. And Sargon himself... he was Thomyris' son. The rippling water distorted his image, much like the distortion in his own sense of identity. He had thought himself one person, only to learn he was another entirely. As he brooded, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Is everything alright, Sargon?” the former Prince Ghassan approached with a look of concern, his brow furrowed. "What do you think...?" Sargon muttered without looking up. Ghassan sighed. “Ever since you revealed what Thomyris had done, you haven’t been yourself.” Hearing Ghassan's words, Sargon let out a heavyly sigh. “A lot is going through my mind after what happened at Mount Qaf, and none of it is good. I lost the Immortals—save for Artaban and Neith. I nearly lost you. And I had to witness the worst truth of all: that Queen Thomyris was my mother this whole time, despite abandoning me as an infant. What more do you want from me?” He ranted as he felt like he wasn't himself, confirming Ghassan's worry. Ghassan placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I understand, Sargon. You need time away from the palace.” He answered. Sargon exhaled. “Yeah... And even better, I'll ask the Simurgh about the possibility of living in a different world.” The thought of living in a different world... Ghassan had not expected Sargon of such a thing, let alone, never thought about it at all. “A different world? Do you really think that’s possible?” Ghassan inquired, knowing the improbability of it. “I won’t know until I ask the Simurgh about it,” Sargon replied. “That means you have to go back to Mount Qaf.” Ghassan specualted, which came true as Sargon let out a "Yes." before the latter would straighten himself up, setting his jaw in determination. “I don’t know when I’ll be back... but if I don’t return, know that I’ve found my place elsewhere.” He warned Ghassan before leaving the garden fountains. However, Ghassan hesited as he was worried about the younger version of Vahram, created by the curse from Mount Qaf. “And what do I tell Neith, Artaban, and the younger Vahram?” He inquired, seeking the reassurance from the savior in front of him. “Tell them I’m gone because I need to be alone.” He answered. Ghassan nodded solemnly. “Of course.” he said with a weak smile, still hinting of his worriness towards Sargon. Sargon turned and walked away from the fountains. As he made his way through the throne room, whispers followed him—servants and nobles murmuring about Thomyris’ crime. He paid them no heed. It was no longer his concern. But just as he neared the exit, Thomyris stepped into his path, her face etched with sorrow. “Sargon, wait!” He stopped and turned to her, his expression cold. “What do you want?” “Sargon, please don’t go. You still have the opportunity to—” “To what?” he cut in sharply. “To be as selfish as you when you were queen? Hard pass.” She flinched. “Sargon... I’m sorry for what I have done, not as queen, but as your mother.” Hearing it, Sargon laughed bitterly. “Don’t make me laugh, Thomyris. You gave up the right to call yourself my mother the moment you abandoned me. And beyond that, you lied to your people for years, throwing thousands of soldiers into a pointless war just because you refused to admit the truth.” “I was trying to protect you!” she protested. “I wanted to ensure you were found and taken in by Anahita and the Immortals!” “What?!” Sargon’s voice rose, with the court witnessing the argument between the two. “You’re telling me I was just a pawn to you? Like what you did to Ghassan? Or worse—that I had to learn the truth at Mount Qaf instead of hearing it from you?” He accused her of child neglect. Thomyris shook her head vehemently. “You were never a pawn! I planned to tell you in private after you returned with Ghassan. I care for you.” However, Sargon knew that she said that just to get his favor. “You care for power and my approval.” “It wasn’t always about power, Sargon!” She objected. Sargon had already enough of the personality that Thomyris was showing to him. “Then explain why you waited for thirty years! Neither Ghassan nor I knew the truth until we came back from Mount Qaf! I’m twenty-two years old, and you never once told me. You left me alone.” He exclaimed, his anger rising. Thomyris opened her mouth, but no words came. The silence spoke louder than any excuse she could offer. Seeing the unability to explain, Sargon scoffed. “That’s what I thought." He said before announcing her "From now on, never—never—bother trying to convince me otherwise. I am not your son anymore." before turning back and striding away. Behind him, Thomyris called after him, her voice breaking into sobs, but he did not stop. Her tears no longer held sway over him. As he reached the palace entrance, he was surprised to find a familiar face waiting for him. And it turned out to be the younger version of Vahram. “Vahram?” Sargon frowned. “What are you doing here?” The younger version of Vahram hesitated before answering “Ghassan told me you were leaving for Mount Qaf...” Sargon was surprised that the young lad heard of his departure. “He did?” “Yes... I can’t bear to see you go like this.” He admitted, with a hint of fear shown on his face. Sargon sighed. “It’s for the best, Vahram. I need time alone.” Vahram bit his lip. “But... will you return if you have the chance?” “I can’t promise you that I'll return,” Sargon admitted. “But know this—I’ve been through worse. Whatever the Simurgh has in store, I’ll face it. And trust me when I say this—you’ll come out strong.” Vahram nodded. “I’ll do my best, Sargon.” A small smile flickered across Sargon’s lips. “That’s more like it.” With that, he turned and walked away. Behind him, Vahram waved, holding on to the hope that one day, they would meet again.