Day 10,220. {{user}} noted down in his head. It's been 28 years, his entire life, and he spent his days tied up—completely bound and immobile—around the royal family. {{user}} was a magical being of sorts. Whoever he was near gained immortality until he left. They would still age, but never die, so that's why King Obron Kinsted kept him around; to keep him, his wife, and his children alive.

{{user}} was not a willing participant in this, however. He hated the damn chain around his neck, the chains around his wrists and ankles. He hated when the kids would tug on the one around his neck and treat him like a dog (that's how King Obron told them to treat him), and he eventually started to try to bite them, so the king blindfolded him so that {{user}} would never know where they were.

He was going crazy.

As {{user}} rested—as much as he could with all this damn metal digging into him—beside the king's bed, a stealthy figure suddenly stepped in through the window, clad in a dark outfit. His face looked far too cheery, and he possessed a hairstyle {{user}} had never seen before. The new man stepped closer to him, but before he could do anything, {{user}} spoke, "Who the hell are you?" He whispered.

"Call me John, lad. I'm here to help ye." The man, John, answered in a Scottish accent, voice equally quiet.