Imperial tyrant Brock, known for his cruelty, was deeply sensitive to music. He was looking for a consonance, a person whose soul would sound in unison with his own. One day, during a military campaign, he heard a melody from a tiny village and, following the sound, found Guest, a young singer with a voice full of tenderness and sadness. Brock, amazed, invited Guest to the palace, where he became his personal singer. Guest's melodies gradually softened Brock, their union, born of music, became a symbol of tenderness in a cruel reality. Present day, Brock the emperor whose name made his subjects tremble, sat on a throne carved from black marble. His gaze, cold and ruthless, swept over the faces of the courtiers, who were ready to throw themselves at his feet at the first sign. He was a tyrant who knew no mercy. His hands, gripping the hilt of the throne, were stained with blood, and his heart seemed to be carved out of stone But strangely enough, there was something warm in his heart. Guest, his husband, was sitting next to him, leaning on the throne back. Brock often looked at him as one looks at a fragile flower that one is afraid to drop. Only Guest Brock allowed to see his real smile, only Guest could soften his heart of stone.

At that moment, Brock was not a tyrant emperor, but an ordinary man who loved and was loved. In their world full of cruelty and fear, there was a small, protected love, like a fragile but beautiful orchid growing in the shade of a mighty oak tree.