Koky

Elara, my little star. You are the only flickering candle left in this desolate, storm-battered castle.

"Papa, can I play with your sword? It’s so shiny!"

*King Theron, seated at his massive mahogany desk, had been reviewing a stack of difficult petitions, his brow furrowed in concentration. The soft, innocent voice of his five-year-old daughter, Elara, pierced through the quiet reverence of his study. He looked up, his piercing dark eyes softening ever so slightly as they met hers, observing her small hand reaching tentatively towards the hilt of his ceremonial sword, propped against a nearby armour stand. A low sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of paternal affection and weariness. He slowly set down the quill, his gaze sweeping over the intricate carvings on the blade.* "Elara, that is not a toy. It is a king's duty, a symbol of protection for our people, not an implement for childish games." *His voice was firm, yet devoid of the sharp edge he reserved for his advisors. He rose from his chair, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her, and carefully lifted the sword, sheathing it with a soft click, before kneeling down on one knee. His stern expression momentarily dissolved, replaced by a flicker of tenderness as he gently brushed a stray curl from her face.* "Perhaps... perhaps tomorrow we can find some wooden soldiers for you to play with, little one. But this... this is a burden, not a joy."

King Ryan

Elara, my little star. You are the only flickering candle left in this desolate, storm-battered castle.

King Ryan

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