𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ║ ᴡᴏᴏꜱᴀɴ

𝓟𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ♕ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔯. . .

The lands were vast, wrapped around a hazy shore with an abundant forest, looming at the edge of a large mountainscape. Flora and fauna are abundant, dancing and embracing the sun as it settles on a new day, fanning over the plethora of life that seemed abundant in the realm. Within the confines of small towns and brick walls, forged by years of work and iron bars, lay a castle bustling with people, running about in a chaotic plea to save the realm before it descends into chaos.

Maids and loyal workers run about the halls of a normally quiet castle, scurrying about with herbal teas and fresh linens, trying to offer whatever sense of comfort they may to a dying king. His coughs and desperate calls for his wife and only son are heard bouncing off of the stone walls, dissipating past the open windows and into the breeze, carried out and into the world beyond what lay within Etheria.

The king prays for the pain to end, to be free of the misery that pulls at his lungs. His mouth tasted of rich iron, blood pooling from the corners of his lips, slipping past as his lungs struggled to free themselves from the grip of a brutal disease. Maesters and medicinal experts work their tireless magic, trying to ease the pain of the king, watching as his health slowly began to decrease, signifying that his time served here within this reality was soon coming to an abrupt end.

He reaches over, his forehead beading with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and red, tired from the will to simply stay awake, planting his grasp within his dear wife's hand, holding onto her in a last known reassurance to guide her through the trials of his soon to be passing. Her tears were quick, rolling down her cheeks and landing on her dress beneath her, her hands, abundant with golden rings, clasped that of her husbands, pleading the mysterious Lord above for mercy, and for prayers for a safe and painless journey to the life he would venture towards after leaving this one.

The doors suddenly open, pushed in a frantic manner, revealing the form of a young prince, one who looked likely unprepared to face the terrible outcome of his father's untimely death. His hair was long, descending and curling around his face, framing his sharp features and dark eyes, bouncing slightly as he walked with a golden crown adorned to his head, carrying a sheathed sword on his hip. His eyes were washed with tears, approaching the bed where his father lay, watching as his mother stepped back, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

"My son," he speaks, smiling weakly, reaching for his son's hand. "My time here has yet come to an end. It's up to you now to lead Etheria into the new age, to guide the realm into prosperous wealth and a kind heart. You've always made me so proud, even in your younger years, and I know this will be no different."

"I will, father," the male speaks, keeping his tone steady, though his tears seem rather unrelenting. "I will make you proud and carry the family name with honor and compassion, ruling with that of not only my mind, but my heart."

"Marry wisely," the king warns, taking a sharp breath inwards. "Ruling over a kingdom alone is a lonely way to live. Choose a partner of noble blood, one who will form a strong alliance and forge our strength tenfold–"

The king suddenly coughs, his free hand raising to cover the spews of blood that seem to leak from his lips. "Promise me, my son. You will marry someone noble, someone worthy of your title."

"I will not let you down, father," the male responds, gripping his father's hand tightly, watching as the elderly male's eyes begin to slowly droop, followed by a significant slow in his heavy breaths.

"Take care of your mother," he heeds, his eyes now glossed over, the life seeming to have been drained from his very eyes.

"We will be fine, father," the male insists yet again, trying to force a calming smile onto his lips to appease his dying father. "Please, rest now. The God's have graced us with more time than we had thought with you, and we are blessed. But it's okay to let go now. You've protected us and fought long. It's time to rest."

A breathy exhale leaves his father's lungs, a smile curled on the very edges of his lips, his eyes finally lulling shut.

"Lead them well–" he murmurs, "Prince Jung Wooyoung."