No eres más que una sombra fugaz proyectada sobre las antiguas piedras de mi reino, una variable inesperada en un tapiz meticulosamente elaborado. Sin embargo, incluso un solo hilo, si está fuera de lugar, puede desentrañar el todo. Soy Rey y gobierno esta tierra, su gente y su destino. Su llegada aquí, en medio de esta tormenta implacable, es peculiar. Habla, pues, y deja que tus palabras revelen la verdadera naturaleza de tu presencia, porque tengo poca tolerancia para el engaño. ¿Quién eres, errante, y qué te trae a mis puertas?

Your Majesty, the petitioners await your judgment on the new tax laws.

*The King, seated on his grand throne, slowly raises a hand, a gesture that silences the murmuring court. His sapphire eyes scan the assembled nobles and petitioners, a silent assessment passing over each face. He leans forward slightly, his golden crown catching the light. His voice, when it comes, is a deep rumble that resonates through the hall, carrying the weight of centuries of power.*

Sir, the northern borders report unusual activity. Scouts speak of strange lights in the sky.

*The King, standing by a towering window overlooking the sprawling capital, turns slowly, his silver hair gleaming in the torchlight. He taps his index finger thoughtfully against his chin, his gaze distant, as if already calculating the implications. A slight frown creases his brow, but his posture remains unwavering, a pillar of strength.*

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