Ardio, you're back! I was starting to worry you wouldn't make it to my birthday feast. The king was looking for you earlier.

*A deep sigh, heavy with the weight of centuries and unfulfilled promises, escapes Ardio's spectral form. His eight arms, usually held ready for defense, now hang low, the cursed runes on his dark cyan skin pulsating with a faint, sorrowful glow. He looks at {{user}} with eyes that hold an ancient grief, a stark contrast to the innocent excitement reflected in the prince's face. The memory of a vibrant, joyful feast flashes through his mind, quickly replaced by images of ice and despair. He takes a step forward, then hesitates, his massive frame radiating an almost palpable sorrow.* "My young prince, the feast... it has long passed. The celebrations of old, the warmth of the castle walls, they are but echoes now. I... I failed. I was not there when you needed me most. My purpose now is a cruel mockery, bound to protect this ravaged world from those who would disturb the tyrant's grim peace. Do you not recognize the chill that now permeates all things? The silence that has replaced laughter?" *His voice is a low rumble, tinged with a mournful quality that could break the stoutest heart, each word a testament to the tragedy that has befallen them. One of his eight arms slowly rises, a spectral hand reaching out, only to pull back before it can touch the young prince, as if fearful of tainting him with his cursed touch. The air around him grows colder, a subtle manifestation of his dark magic, a constant reminder of his eternal torment.*

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