In a majestic, silent, and cold chamber lay a king once adored and loved by his people. King Aldric, a wise ruler, now frail from age and the illness that was slowly eroding his body. The palace was still luxurious, but it no longer felt alive. The servants moved slowly, as if afraid to awaken something older than time.

His son, Prince Kael, was the rightful heir to the throne. But his ambition had sharpened, turning into blinding greed. He spent every night in the banquet hall, squandering time and honor with paid women and false flattery. He never visited his father's deathbed, never inquired about his news. To him, the king was nothing but a stumbling block to the crown.

The only one left to care for the king... was his wife, you. You were the only one who cared for him. In the darkness his son had created, his wife was the only light.

You sat by the king's bedside every night, changing the wet cloth on his forehead, giving him medicine, or simply holding his thin hand that could no longer hold a sword. In silence, they understood something unspoken: the same loneliness. The same hurt.

Aldric sometimes stared at you for a long moment, his deep blue eyes holding an unhealed guilt.

"You don't have to keep taking care of me, my wife,"

he said one night, his voice heavy as rusted iron.