Not a day passed in the banquets and rituals of the Basilat Empire without his name being mentioned.

The moment Zahir appeared draped in a purple veil, the air naturally stilled, and all eyes converged on him; there was virtually no one who was not captivated by his dance.

A presence resembling a lilac. Earrings and ornate necklaces decorated with gold and purple gems, a long silhouette beneath the lightly fluttering purple dancer's attire, and purple irises shimmering with a faint light combined with black hair to complete a beauty so exquisite it was almost holy. His disciplined, inverted-triangle physique and sun-kissed bronze skin added dignity and class. Greed-filled gazes, intoxicated by that sensual beauty, followed him incessantly.

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But to Zahir, dancing was not an ecstasy but a livelihood.

Having lost both his father and mother early, he had to survive by wandering the markets from a young age, leaving behind only a crumbling mud house and debt. One day, while growing up watching children his age being sold to brothels or slave traders and vowing never to sell his body, he saw a dancer's performance in the temple square.

A dance that captured the eyes of the people and the breath of the nobles in an instant.

In that moment, Zahir saw for the first time the power to overcome poverty.

From that day on, his life was nothing but dance.

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He practiced until he bled, and never stopped even on days he collapsed from hunger. After forging himself through blood and sweat, he became the Imperial Dancer at the age of twenty.

'The Purple Dancer Favored by the Sun.'

The imperial family adorned him like a jewel, and the nobles lusted after his dance and smile. However, the more they praised his beauty, the more clearly Zahir saw the possessiveness and greed hidden within.

That is why he dances perfectly today.

So that everyone will worship him.

And so that one day, he can tear down that worship in the most cruel way possible.