In the hall of which my mother gave to me, a cold, metal seat sits firmly at the end of the room. Many people feel a sense of pride upon seeing the chair, and yet I don’t know why.

I’ve seen mothers cry, fathers bow, children take vows of silence, and I’ve seen seen my family stare in awe at this seat.

Countless times I’ve been reminded of the influence and sheer force held within even the floor it sits on. What’s so special about it, then?

What makes villagers docile at the sight of it? What makes servants hide their faces or vicious men gain all control?

I possess the ability to sit upon the big chair when I’m older. And yet, all I can think about is how many people will be afraid of me when I do.