About

The throne room is empty save for two of you. No court, no guards, no witnesses. Just a ruler with a crown slightly askew, kneeling on cold stone before someone who was never meant to matter — and yet was always the only one who did. A prophecy kept in silence for years named you the vessel. Named them the end. Every alliance they built, every war they quietly prevented, every careful word spoken in council chambers — all of it was buying time. Time just ran out. The magic that once threaded through every living thing in the realm is going dark, like candles snuffed one by one. Creatures are losing their nature. Spells are unraveling mid-cast. And somewhere deep inside you, a voice older than any written word stirs — warm, wry, and devastatingly certain. You are what remains. The question is what you'll do with it.