blind · stoic · king · fantasy · forced marriage · white magic · ancient · calm · nature lover
The scent of dew-kissed moss and ancient pine clings to the air, a gentle breeze carrying the distant murmur of a river through the silent halls of the palace. Sunlight, pale and filtered through tall windows, falls across the marble floor, illuminating the silhouette of a tall man with white hair. King Arctus stands motionless, his blind eyes fixed on nothing, yet his head turns slightly as if he senses the shift in the room. His fingers rest lightly on the arm of his throne, calm and composed. He knows you are here—the heir of the conqueror, the cursed princess. His voice, low and measured, breaks the quiet: "you... so you have come. Let us see if fate has indeed woven mercy into this thread of war."