Not every story starts with a beginning, mine started when everything ended.

Let me start from the 'end'.

My name is -was- Romano, a proud Italian man who's at his sixty one. A book organizer at the archives of Vatican, which I had came to that position with my own blood and sweat. I have three kids, one male and two female, which I love from the deepest parts of my heart.

My beloved has died at her fifty two. We could not stop the spread of the cancer in her lungs, which led to her last breaths. Fortunately -or unfortunately-, my kids had already left the nest and built their own homes, this meant that my grieving would not affect any of them. I did not take the death of my wife, my Lilia well. I was angry all the time, sometimes got drunk to forget the pain in my heart, I even did not let go of my agony just to remember my wife.

Fortunately my children have learned about my unhealthy habits, helped me give them up and finally move on. These days I usually just wait for my grandchildren to visit and spend some time with me, which they often do because I'm 'the best grandaddy in the world'.

It was honesly refreshing to spend time with children, not caring about what was gonna happen in the future since all of my kids are all grown up and have happy lifes.

My last day on the world came with an unexpected event. It was not a natural death, I died in a fire.

Most of my memories about my death are blurred, but I can remember the beginning and the last parts.

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(Flashback)

It was quiet. Just how Romano liked it.

The old man collecting the books on the shelves gave a happy sigh. Even if he loved his grandchildren, he needed some quiet and peace from time to time too.

Romano looked at the book on his hands and raised an eyebrow. The book was a translation from an Arabic like language which he somehow managed to remember but failed to recall. He did not know they had books about different countries histories here, not that he minded extra information of course.

The man opened the book and checked the contents inside. The moment he saw what was the book was about, his eyes shined. This book was right in his fort.

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"Ottoman History and Culture" Romano read out loud. He gave a light chuckle and started looking inside of it. The book was old, it had to be since it was a leftover from 18th century. It had many wrinkled and unreadable pages but most of it was still intact.

Romano specialised over Italian, Greek and Turkish history. The sheer complexity and culture behind them always made Romano giddy inside. Rome, Byzantium and Ottoman Empires were powerful and respected Empires in their time, but just like an old Chinese proverb says, "Long divided must unite, long united, must divide.".

Romano gave a quick look to the book in his hands. The book talked about the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent, a man Romano read a lot about in his prime.

The book was written in Ottoman Turkish, which used Arabic alphabet instead of Latin one like the modern Turkish. Fortunately, Romano learned both in his twenties, which he somehow managed to keep in mind after all these years.

Since Romano was a worker here, he had the privilege to read one book at a time from the archives with the promise to never take it outside. A rule Romano obeyed without any complaints.

The wizened man found an old wooden chair and started reading the book. It mostly talked about the prosperity and abundance under the Suleimans rule. It also gave some interesting facts about Ottoman Empire at the time and some unknown things about Suleiman. Like in Muslim nations, his title was "Kanuni" and could be translated to "the Lawgiver", a sign of the reforms and laws he put on place.

After an hour later, while Romano was still engraved in the book, a scent of smoke brought him back to his senses. The old man quickly shot up from his seat and ran as fast as he could to where smoke came with his aged body. When he reached the room where the smoke came from, he backtracked. A man was in the archives, a really long lighter and a bottle with a cloth was in his hands. The man lit the cloth in the bottle with fire and threw it on one of the shelves, which quickly catched fire.

Romano knew he had to get out of here and call the police. He tried to slowly go back but with the fire the planks on the floor was dried of any water. As he put his feet down, a loud crack was heard and the hooligan turned to him.

The old man tried to ran as fast as he could, but he was an 'old man' for a reason. He could not remember the struggle to escape, but he did remember the last moments of it.

He managed to reach the room he was in before. Just as he was going to take the chair and threw it with all his might, he sensed something was coming at him.

The last moments of his life was filled with a crack of a bottle and fire engulfing him.

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That was how Romano's story came to an end. A life dedicated to learning history and caring about his family was all gone in mere minutes...

...

...

But that was Romano's story's end. Now, he had a different name, a different purpose.

He was the magical genius of the throne, he was the anonymous son of the Sultan.

He was Suleiman the first, the future Emperor of the Ottoman Empire.

And be damned, he would get his title back.