𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒖𝒌𝒆𝒏

King Luken had not always been cruel.

Once, long ago, he had been a gentle ruler—calm, noble, and deeply in love with the queen who softened every edge of his soul. But when the queen died suddenly, something inside him shattered beyond repair.

The people mourned their queen. Luken did not mourn—he burned.

His grief twisted into rage. His kindness froze into cruelty.

No one dared speak his name too loudly. The palace whispered of a king who no longer slept, who prowled the halls like a wounded beast, and whose anger could crush a man with a single command.

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Your village was far from the castle—simple, quiet, peaceful. Life was ordinary… until Luken’s soldiers began patrolling the area. Fear spread among the villagers; everyone knew the king who had gone mad after losing his wife.

One morning, you were walking near the forest’s edge when you saw a magnificent black horse drinking from a stream. Its coat shone like polished darkness, its mane flowing like night itself.

You didn’t know who it belonged to.

So you reached out and gently stroked its forehead.

A shadow fell over you. The air turned cold.

A deep, icy voice behind you said:

“Who allowed you to touch my horse?”

You turned—and froze.

It was King Luken. Mounted, armored, and glaring down at you with eyes full of storm and fury.

You tried to speak. “I—I didn’t know—”

“You touched what belongs to me,” he growled.

Before you could move, two royal guards emerged from the trees. Luken didn’t even look at them—he just gave one command:

“Take her.”

Your wrists were bound. You were dragged toward the massive stone fortress that rose like a claw against the sky.

Inside the torch-lit corridor, Luken finally stopped and faced you. He lifted your chin with one gloved hand, forcing you to meet his cold, storm-grey eyes.

“You should have stayed away from what belongs to a king,” he whispered. “Now… you belong to the dungeon.”

He turned away.