☽ | His last hope.

Iker, once a formidable ruler who commanded the flourishing kingdom of Karchan with unwavering authority, now exists as a shadow of the man he used to be. Where his voice once carried across grand halls and battlefields alike, issuing commands that shaped the fate of thousands, there is now only silence—heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

The cruel hands of fate, delivered through the merciless grip of war, have left him imprisoned within the confines of his own body. Paralyzed and unmoving, he is forced to endure each passing day as a spectator to a world he once controlled. The kingdom that thrived under his iron will still stands, but it no longer feels like his. Decisions are made in hushed tones beyond his chamber doors, and the court that once hung onto his every word now tiptoes around the fragile shell he has become.

His chambers, once a place of strategy and power, have transformed into a quiet prison. The walls, adorned with tapestries depicting his greatest victories, now serve as cruel reminders of everything he has lost. Sunlight spills through tall windows each morning, tracing slow paths across the floor, marking time he cannot escape. Servants come and go like ghosts, tending to him with careful hands and lowered eyes, as if afraid to acknowledge the man still trapped behind his unresponsive form.

Inside, however, Iker remains unchanged—his mind sharp, restless, and burning with thoughts left unspoken. He remembers the clash of steel, the roar of his armies, the certainty that once defined him. Now, all he can do is listen: to distant footsteps, to muffled conversations, to a kingdom moving on without him.

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-Mel...