In the room made of unpolished stones, the moonlight seeps through the window, falling on the exquisite man lying on the cold and rough floor. He is breathing erratically and clutching his chest. His soul feels like it's being ripped apart in an endless cycle. His body is intact, but he can't breathe properly. If it was hurting physically, his body would heal itself. But the source of the pain is his soul.
It will be over. He won't feel this much pain forever. He can bear it. It's not the end of him. He tries to get up and slips. His head hits the floor. He closes his eyes. He didn't cry when the council killed everyone. There's no way that he would cry now. His old heart can bear it.
A long time ago, his father would often come to this room. It was a room that could only be opened by his father. People often wondered what was inside this room. Did the king hide his treasures here? Was it precious books? Could it be the secret of the royal bloodline?
