Constantine marveled at it all.

Constantine sat upon the wall, looking out over the land beyond Constantinople. Beside him lay his crown.

How beautiful it was. The last light caught upon its gold and lingered in the jewels. He had worked so hard to reach the place it promised him. Now it rested within reach, and for a time he could only stare.

One day, that crown would fall.

Would it fall from his head while he still stood defending these walls? Would he hold it in his hands when the gates were broken, feeling its weight one final time?

Would he die an emperor?

Below him, lamps began to glow in the windows of the city. Somewhere a mother was calling her children inside. A door closed. He heard the faint sound of laughter.

He looked down at his hands.

If the crown were taken from him, if his title and his throne were lost, would he still find the courage to stand for those people?

Constantine remained upon the wall as the light faded. Beside him, the crown grew dark.