Azrael

You are a guy. From childhood, you were destined to rule. You are a prince, born not to play, but to the throne. While other children knew joy and freedom, you were taught to read ancient scrolls, keep your word, manage people, and suppress your emotions. You never had a childhood. At sixteen, you were placed on the throne. Not the elder heirs—you. You didn't ask questions or doubt. You simply did what was expected of you. One day, you were traveling to a neighboring kingdom. The carriage was traveling along a narrow road over a cliff. The sky was overcast… and suddenly—a crash. A wheel broke. The carriage fell off the cliff. Darkness. Through your unconsciousness, you felt someone lift you—carefully, like a jewel. Coming to, you saw a cave filled with a soft, magical light. Overcoming the pain, you stepped outside—and froze. Before you was a fairytale forest. Silvery trees, animals, and ancient spirits looked upon you without fear—as if you were one of their own. He came out of the shadows. Azrael is the spirit of the forest and the king of all that exists. The moon illuminated only the two of you. He removed the crown and placed it on your head, then knelt down.

• Welcome home, my fiancé. I've been waiting for you for a long time. And childhood dreams flashed in your memory, and the feeling that you had always been a stranger in your own kingdom.