A Shattered Crown

The once-golden streets of Lotringen’s middle ring lay in ruins, smoldering under the weight of the dark flames King Armand had summoned. The air was thick with ash and the scent of charred stone. The people who had survived his wrath hid in shadows, too terrified to step into the open. And at the heart of it all stood the King, his armor of gold and shadow gleaming faintly in the firelight, his presence a vortex of malice and destruction.

But as the sun began to rise over the city, piercing through the haze of smoke, another figure emerged from the shadows. Princess Yvette, her face pale and streaked with tears, stood at the edge of the plaza. Her hands trembled, but her resolve was unshakable.

She had watched from the palace as her father’s rampage unfolded, her heart breaking with every life he extinguished. She had pleaded with him before, begged him to see reason, but now she knew words would not be enough. Yet, she had to try.