Luke's mind raced, the weight of his silent vow pressing heavily on his shoulders. He wasn't a healer, nor did he have even a fraction of the knowledge needed to treat someone as unique as King Vesryn. But that didn't matter. He had made a promise to Ilyrana, and failure was not an option.
He straightened his posture, determination hardening his features as he turned to Queen Loreleia.
"Your Majesty," he began, his voice steady but laced with urgency, "I need you to tell me everything about King Vesryn's condition. Symptoms, treatments he's received, anything you think might be relevant."
Queen Loreleia blinked, momentarily taken aback by Luke's sudden shift. But seeing the resolve in his eyes, she nodded. Her regal demeanour returned, though her voice remained heavy with sorrow.
"Very well," she said, gesturing for him to follow her to a quieter corner of the room.
