Xedeth sat in the dimly lit war room, shoulders hunched and his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. The once proud and bubbly King of the Demon Kingdom now looked like a shadow of his former self, consumed by the weight of the inevitable. The massive oak table, once used for planning victorious campaigns and drawing up peace treaties, now felt like a mockery—an empty surface upon which no hope could be etched.
His quiet sobs echoed through the stone chamber, but there was no one to hear them except for one man. Livik, his trusted advisor and closest confidant, stood silently by the king's side. Livik had been with him through countless battles, always offering wisdom, strategy, and support. But this time, even Livik's usual strength faltered in the face of such bleak circumstances.
"Your Majesty, you have to be strong," Livik said gently, though his voice trembled with the weight of his words. He placed a hand on Xedeth's back, hoping to offer a semblance of comfort, but knowing deep down that no words or gestures could ease the king's despair.
Xedeth shook his head, wiping his tear-streaked face with trembling hands. "How, Livik? How can I be strong now?" His voice was thick with emotion, each word laced with frustration and sorrow. "You, of all people, know this is a losing battle. We've fought so hard, but there's no path to victory. No way out."
He paused, his gaze unfocused as if he could see the doom looming on the horizon. "At first, it seemed like we had a chance with the dwarves... They were our last hope, our final ally. But they refused us. They turned their backs, and now... now the hero is coming." His voice cracked at the mention of the hero—the one figure who embodied the certain end. "And sooner than we expected." Xedeth's voice faltered again as fresh tears welled in his eyes. "We're finished."
He buried his face in his hands once more, and his sobs grew louder. The once-vibrant king had been reduced to a broken man, cornered by fate. Livik's heart ached as he watched his king unravel before him, a king who had always exuded confidence, even in the darkest of times. Yet now, both men knew the reality—they had reached the end of their road.
Livik's hand remained on Xedeth's back, but his own mask of composure was beginning to slip. He'd told himself he could remain strong, for the sake of his king and his people, but it was a lie. His strength was failing him, and the truth was, he had no more hope to offer either. He, too, had cried this morning—he'd hidden it well, but when his young son had wished him a good day before running off to play, Livik had been overwhelmed by the thought that those innocent moments were about to end. All of it, everything he cherished, would be gone in a matter of weeks. Seven weeks, to be precise. That's how long the strategists had predicted before the hero's arrival. Seven weeks until the kingdom fell.
The thought broke him. Livik's shoulders trembled as tears began to spill from his own eyes. He'd always managed to hold it together before, but the enormity of the situation was too much to bear. Quietly at first, then louder, Livik started to cry. The sounds of his sobs joined the king's, filling the room with the collective grief of two men who knew their fate was sealed.
Xedeth looked up, surprised to see his most stalwart friend in such a vulnerable state. For a moment, they locked eyes, their shared sorrow understood without words. Then, without hesitation, they embraced—two men who had faced countless battles together, now weeping in each other's arms for what would likely be the last time.
There were no more words to be spoken. Both men understood that this moment was not just about the loss of a war or a kingdom. It was about the loss of everything they had ever known. Their people, their homes, their families—all would be swept away in the tide of fate, erased from history as if they had never existed.