The King finally woke up.
It had been nearly two full months since he had fallen into what everyone had come to call an eternal sleep—a state so deep and unresponsive that even hope itself had started to feel pointless. And now, after all that time suspended between life and death, this was the first moment he opened his eyes again, the first time light reached him after all those silent days.
"Ah…"
Layla's voice trembled, and she couldn't hide the joy flooding her expression. Not that she tried to. No one could have blamed her for it.
She had already given up once. Slowly, painfully, she had accepted the idea that her father would never wake again. The healers had shaken their heads, the priests had whispered prayers that sounded more like farewells, and every passing day had chipped away at what little hope remained. She had begun preparing herself for the worst, steeling her heart for a future without him.
And now, all of that vanished in an instant.
