"Eventually, you will become the next ruler and will have to lead this place, Myrrava," King Vaelthar stood as he started walking to a nearby window to look at his people outside.
Swords clashed against each other, right along with spells lighting up the backyard of the castle as the knights trained.
"That means you will eventually have to leave this place and get stronger," Vaelthar looked down at his clothing; he might have seemed like a strong and indestructibly powerful ruler; however, under his clothes and armour, he was just a fragile old man now, a fragment of his former self and strength.
"You are far stronger than your brother," he turned towards her, his eyes gleaming, "you are the heir."
'But I don't want it,' Myrrava sighed as she looked at the table melancholically, her usually cold face reflecting her inner thoughts, which made her father sigh.
