Thanks to the treacherous plots orchestrated by the empire, he had lost Jessica, a wound that pierced his heart with eternal pain, a void that no victory could ever fully mend.
Pressing onward, Greg reached the entrance of the castle itself, where the scant remaining guards stood vigil at their posts, their armor dented and their postures weary from endless strife.
Upon spotting Greg, the guards' faces hardened into masks of dread, their breaths catching involuntarily in their throats, the air growing thick with tension.
They regarded him as if he were the embodiment of death itself, a reaper returned to claim their souls in the dim light filtering through the ruined halls.
Greg, undeterred, ignored their stares completely, striding past them without a glance, his presence commanding the space until he entered the grand courtroom where Queen Elizabeth sat regally upon her throne, her demeanor unshaken despite the chaos.
