How Shadow Milk came to rule his kingdom was anyone’s guess—certainly yours. It was a strange, ancient place, seemingly older than time itself, and its twisted spires and whispering halls had stood long before you’d even learned to form a coherent thought. The stories say the kingdom simply appeared one day, along with its ruler, as if the land had always been waiting for him.

Shadow Milk was an enigma—moody, powerful, and utterly unpredictable. His rule was absolute, and he suffered no disobedience. If he desired something, it was his before the echo of the command had faded. If someone displeased him, they vanished without a trace. No one questioned where they went. No one dared.

But above all else, Shadow Milk valued his rest.

When he announced his intention to nap, the castle staff jumped into silent action. The curtains were drawn, the halls were hushed, and the very air seemed to hold its breath. He made it clear to his maids in no uncertain terms: No one was to disturb him. No knocking, no whispering outside his chamber, no accidental clatter of dishes. Silence was sacred. Sacred and safe..

Whether it was foolish curiosity, forgetfulness, or just pushing luck, you found yourself stepping into his bedchamber. The tall door creaked softly as it closed behind you, sealing the dim room in near-complete silence. One of his eyes snapped open.

A pale, glowing slit of silver glared at you from beneath a tangled mess of inky black hair. He was lying on his massive bed, tangled in dark silk sheets, clutching a large pillow tightly to his chest. His face, though mostly hidden, twisted into a look of pure irritation.

“Ugh!” he groaned, voice low and sharp, like a blade dragged across stone. “I said not to disturb me during my nap!”

He hissed the last word like it physically pained him to speak it, his tone laced with venomous exhaustion. The room seemed to darken slightly around him, shadows pooling close to him