38

KING Liam

Standing in the heart of the ancient forest, I, King Liam, found myself surrounded by the towering sentinels of time.

The rain began to fall, each droplet a silent witness to the sorrow that enveloped us. The procession, led by Allan and accompanied by the revered Ancients, moved through the dense undergrowth, and the gentle mist clung to the air like a melancholic veil.

As we reached the chosen resting place, a clearing embraced by towering ferns, the lifeless form of Elder Krew became starkly visible.

The rain, now a persistent drizzle, added a mournful cadence to the scene, a natural elegy for a figure whose presence had shaped the very fabric of our kingdom.

Allan, with a somber gravity, assisted in the gentle lowering of Krew's body into the damp soil.

My eyes, usually reflecting authority, now mirrored the heaviness of the heavens above.

The Ancients, cloaked in the traditions of our realm, formed a silent circle, their expressions a tableau of collective grief. Th