The once vibrant Red Castle, a symbol of strength and prosperity, now stood hollow. Its halls echoed with an unsettling silence, the absence of Queen Namia and her children leaving a palpable void. Outside, the birds had stopped their joyful chirping, the rainbows no longer danced across the sky, and the once-crystal-clear blue of the heavens had turned an ominous gray. The life that had flourished within the castle's walls seemed to have withered, consumed by the dread that had gripped the royal family.
Inside the castle, the king's condition was deteriorating rapidly. The wound inflicted by the attacker, which had once appeared to be nothing more than a minor injury, had now become a festering infection. The pain was unbearable, each breath a struggle as it slowly spread through his veins. His body, once strong and regal, now trembled under the weight of the sickness.
Queen Celeste remained by his side, tirelessly administering the black poppy potion that she had been giving him every time his screams of agony pierced the air. She watched with a quiet desperation, knowing that time was slipping away. The kingdom's fate seemed as fragile as the king's life. Yet even in his weakened state, his resolve had not wavered.
That morning, as the sun barely peeked through the clouds, the king summoned his son, Prince Elnar, and Queen Celeste. His voice, though hoarse and strained, carried an undeniable command. He demanded to be taken to the grand hall, where he could sit upon his golden throne one last time. His hands gripped the armrests adorned with rubies, the familiar touch grounding him even in his weakened state.
"Guards!" he bellowed, his voice loud enough to rattle the stone walls.
Moments later, a group of guards hurried into the grand hall, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. "Your Majesty," they greeted him, bowing deeply.
"Take me with you," the king said, his voice strong despite the obvious pain. "I cannot sit idly by while my wife and children are in danger."
Queen Celeste stepped forward, her expression a mixture of worry and frustration. "Mathias, you cannot go. Look at your condition. You can barely stand on your own."
The king's eyes flashed with determination. "Nothing can stop me," he retorted, his voice rising. He knew that this was not just about him, but about the very survival of his family and kingdom.
"Father, you are in no condition to go outside the castle," Prince Elnar added, his voice gentle but firm. He could see the pain in his father's eyes but also understood the gravity of the situation. The king's life was at stake, and they needed him to be strong, not recklessly pursuing danger.
The guards exchanged glances, unsure whether to obey the queen's wishes or follow the king's command. The tension in the room was palpable.
"Guards!" The king's voice rang out, deep and authoritative. His demand brooked no argument. The walls seemed to vibrate with the power of his command, and the guards scrambled to assist him.
With great effort, the king stood, his body shaking with the strain. The guards rushed to support him, their hands steadying him as he took tentative steps toward the door. Queen Celeste's face was etched with concern, but she did not interfere.
"Do not ride a horse, Mathias," she cautioned, her voice soft but urgent. "At least let us prepare a carriage for you."
The king nodded, too weak to argue. The carriage was swiftly prepared, and once inside, he settled into the plush cushions, his face pale and drawn. The journey would be long, but the king was determined to press on.
As the guards made preparations, Prince Elnar, ever the dutiful son, mounted his horse with a sense of urgency. "I will go with them," he declared, his tone resolute. He was not about to let his father go alone, not when the kingdom was on the brink of chaos. With a swift kick, he urged his horse into a gallop, following the carriage at full speed, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.
The journey through the countryside was tense, the air thick with anticipation. The windows of the carriage were left open so that the king could see the world around him, despite his weakening condition. The sight of the land he ruled with strength now seemed foreign to him, as if the world itself had turned against him.
Suddenly, as they passed through a dense grove, the king's sharp eyes caught sight of something that made his heart race. Perched high in the branches of a tree was a white viper, its scales glistening like ice under the dim light of the morning. The sight of the creature sent a chill through his veins.
The king's breath hitched, and his pulse quickened. In the old myths, the appearance of a white viper was a harbinger of bad luck, a sign that danger would soon befall the household. His mind raced, and a sense of dread washed over him. He had seen many things in his time as king, but this was different—this felt like an omen, a dark prediction of what was to come.
"Do you see that?" the king murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
Elnar turned his gaze toward the tree, his face unreadable. "Yes," he said softly, though his expression remained unchanged. He had heard the myths too, but he refused to let superstition dictate their actions. The king's health, however, was a far greater concern at the moment.
But the king could not shake the feeling that the appearance of the white viper was a sign of something more sinister. His mind raced, and for a moment, the pain from his wound seemed to fade into the background as he focused on the creature in the tree.
"Keep moving," the king ordered, his voice shaky but commanding. "We cannot let this delay us."
The guards, though visibly concerned, obeyed without question. The wheels of the carriage creaked as they continued down the road, and Elnar, who had been riding beside the carriage, slowed his horse to join the guards riding behind the carriage.
Yet, despite the king's insistence, a feeling of unease lingered in the air, as if the very land around them was holding its breath. The white viper, though small and seemingly insignificant, had cast a shadow over the king's journey—a shadow that seemed to grow darker with each passing moment.
And so, with the weight of his family's fate upon him, King Mathias pressed on, determined to find his wife and children. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that the journey ahead would not only test his strength but might also be the beginning of the end.