Ashen stirred in the massive royal bed, his eyelids heavy as lead. A deep, unnatural weakness had settled into every fiber of his body.
His muscles ached with a dull, persistent fatigue, and something far worse lingered beneath the surface, a hollow sensation, as if a vital part of his power had been violently erased or drained during the night.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly what was missing. His power felt muted, distant, like a once-roaring river reduced to a trickle.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. The events of the previous night replayed in fragments: the impostor wearing Lumina's face, the poisoned bowl he had only pretended to drink, the seductive struggle, and the unconscious woman still lying in the adjacent chamber under guard.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the chamber doors burst open.
