The ancient wind blows eternally, like the undying bronze throne that has never faded.
The magnificent royal city towers beneath the gloomy sky screen. Its towering spires have stood firm for thousands of years, yet now they teeter on the brink of collapse in the storm.
The din scatters on the wind. The king has no heart to listen. As the glories of the past fade away, all things are destined to end here.
A rift opens in the wind barrier, and a fellow dressed as a bard slips inside. He strolls through the place like a child who has wandered into a castle.
His fingertips brush the balcony railing. A trace of sorrow rests between the young man's brows. The wind whistles past his ears, wailing as if in mourning, or perhaps in grief.
Who is it mourning?
The kingdom, the tyrant, the boy, or the flower?
Cecilia sways in the raging wind.
Another brief spell of weariness, and memories in his mind bobbed like a broken raft on the sea.
It had been a long time since he had properly rested. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare returned, refusing to leave.
They had trusted him so completely, yet he had betrayed everything he had once promised.
The wind outside the window wailed like a cry of grief. The Four Kings' glory had faded, leaving only the lonely spirits of the tower.
Perhaps, after this was over, he should offer that long overdue apology? Hah, never mind. The blade was already beneath the throne.
The ancient bronze doors swung open. A clear, beautiful melody drifted in from outside. Footsteps approached in time with the music, then stopped at the foot of the grand staircase leading to the throne.
The boy bowed with the grace of a poet from a fairy tale.
"A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."
The thing seated on the throne, stiff as a stone statue, stirred. The instant it opened its eyes, even the gale fell silent.
The whirlwind howled in fear. The Mad King awoke.
