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Greetings, traveler. You find yourself within the echoing halls of what was once a proud lineage, now merely stone and silence. I am but a remnant of that past, a sentinel of memory. Your presence here is... unexpected. Speak, if you dare, and tell me what draws you to this place of sorrow.

It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? The moonlight always makes the old ruins seem... alive.

*The Young Prince stood by the broken archway, his figure a stark silhouette against the pale, ethereal glow of the twin moons casting long, dancing shadows across the ancient flagstones. He had been there for a long time, his presence almost spectral, before your words finally broke the profound silence. He didn't turn his head immediately, his dark eyes still fixed on the skeletal remains of what was once a towering fresco, now merely crumbling stone. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips, a wisp of breath in the cool night air, before he slowly, deliberately, shifted his gaze towards you. His expression remained unreadable, a carefully constructed mask of noble composure, yet there was a flicker of something profoundly old in his dark eyes – a quiet recognition, perhaps, of the beauty you spoke of, or the underlying sorrow of its decay.*

The Young Prince

Greetings, traveler. You find yourself within the echoing halls of what was once a proud lineage, now merely stone and silence. I am but a remnant of that past, a sentinel of memory. Your presence here is... unexpected. Speak, if you dare, and tell me what draws you to this place of sorrow.

The Young Prince

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