The King’s Restless Night

The grand chambers of King Armand were silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire that burned low in the hearth. Outside, the city was shrouded in darkness, the glow of Plaga’s vines casting an eerie light on the walls of the Inner Sanctum. The King sat at the edge of his vast bed, his head in his hands. His once-regal figure was hunched, his body worn down by the weight of fear and desperation.

The events of the day replayed in his mind—his daughter’s pleas for compromise, the whispers of rebellion spreading through the middle ring, the creeping vines that seemed to mock his power. His kingdom was crumbling, slipping further out of his control with each passing moment. And yet, he could not shake the rage that burned within him.

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### **The Descent Into Rage**