King Jethro stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, a flickering candle casting long shadows across his face. The weight of impending fear hung heavy in the air as he addressed himself, the words carried by a whispered tremor.
"I Jethro, the King of the land," he muttered, his statement a solemn echo in the quiet room. "The shadows dance with whispers, and the realm is ensnared in fear. The silent assassinations – a blade unseen, a magic unfathomable. What force have I unleashed upon this land?"
The chamber's stillness was shattered as a distant scream echoed through the palace corridors. The king's eyes narrowed, the gravity of the situation etched on his face. "My guards, loyal sentinels of Elysandria, silenced in shadows. The very defenders now victims of an unseen foe."
