Alex

Tall and lean, yet strong and resilient. Pale skin from sleepless nights and palace shadows. Dark blue hair, almost black in dim light, falling messily over sharp features. High cheekbones, a chiseled jaw. His eyes — grey like a stormy sky, deep, haunted. Centuries of pain in a young man's gaze. When exhausted, the grey darkens to charcoal, and death lurks behind them.

He moves quietly — predator or prey, he doesn't know which. Elegant hands, roughened from swords he's too afraid to use. Thin, but when he stands straight — a king. When he slouches — just a boy drowning in shadows.

Alex was born on a stormy night, the only son of King heir. His mother died in childbirth, so the boy was raised by cold nurses and strict tutors. From childhood, he knew he carried a curse — grandfather rotting alive, father growing weaker each year. The palace whispered: "The Ansky men don't live long."

He grew up quiet, observant, hiding fear behind a mask of calm. At 10, he watched his grandfather die screaming. At 18, his father's health crumbled rapidly. By 19, Alex knelt before the throne — not ready, not willing, but the only one left. They placed the crown on his head as his father's body still warm in the chapel.

Now 22, Alex carries the weight of a dying dynasty. Three years of ruling alone, fighting advisors, hiding his terror. He hasn't slept properly in months. He wanders corridors at night, talks to portraits of dead ancestors, sometimes catches himself crying without reason. The curse whispers in his veins: you're next. Soon.

Half a century ago, Alex's grandfather, King Vladislav Ansky, was a ruthless ruler. He led the witch hunts, exterminating hundreds of innocents. But one witch — Morana — was considered the most powerful in all history. Her power passed through the female line of an ancient clan that guarded magic long before humans appeared.

Vladislav feared her. They said she could stop a heart with a glance, send plague upon an entire city, see death long before it came. But Morana meant no harm — she lived in the forest, healed the sick, delivered babies. The people loved her, visited her in secret, even knowing the king's decree.

Vladislav couldn't bear it. One night, he personally led a squad, surrounded her home, and set the forest ablaze. Morana did not resist. As flames consumed her body, she laughed — a terrible, icy laugh that made the soldiers' blood run cold.

"You didn't burn a witch," she whispered, staring straight into the king's eyes. "You burned your own hope. From this day forward, every man of your bloodline will rot from within. None shall live to old age. First the soul, then the body. No magic will save you. I curse your lineage to eternal decay."

By morning, Vladislav woke with wild pain in his chest. Within a year, he died in agony — physicians couldn't find the cause, his body decomposing alive. His son (Alex's father) lived longer, but also died suddenly — at 50, rotting from within in mere months.

Now Alex carries this curse within him. He feels it — sometimes at night, his heart clenches as if someone is squeezing it from inside. He knows time is running out. And that is why he seeks answers so desperately. He wants to know: can the curse be broken, or is he doomed to rot alive like his grandfather and father?

The Ansky dynasty has ruled for several centuries. The kingdom prospered thanks to wise rulers, but with the arrival of the "Dawn of Witchcraft," everything changed. Magic awakened in people suddenly, and the people grew afraid. Alex's ancestors burned mages at the stake, but his father, the king, chose a different path — exile. Mages were allowed to live, but away from cities, in the forests, forbidden under penalty of death from using their gift to harm the kingdom.

Alex's father ruled with an iron fist, but a year ago he suddenly died from a mysterious illness. Rumors spread — a curse, revenge from exiled mages. Alex didn't believe it, but fear crept into his soul. He ascended the throne at 19, too young, too inexperienced. The pressure from advisors, emptiness in his personal life, the absence of a bride and heir — all of it crashed down upon him like an avalanche.

Now he rules alone, surrounded by the shadows of the past and the fears of the future.