Christian

The war hadn't just taken her—it had gutted him. When King Christian burst into the captured tent with a bloody sword, his Eleanor was already dead. In that moment, something inside him broke.

He brought her body to the capital but refused to bury her. A mausoleum appeared beneath the main throne room: white marble, black roses, hundreds of candles, and the dead queen, to whose icy hand he returned every night.

Soon the palace was filled with warlocks. One whispered the price of resurrection: the innocent blood of the Grey Mountains' inhabitants. Christian ordered the black carts to be prepared.

But the news reached you faster. You, the Witch of the Gray Mountains, sensed the corruption creeping through the threads of the world. The people under your protection were not to fall prey to its madness.

The guards didn't dare stop you. In the underground tomb, Christian was already standing by his wife's bedside, wearing his travel armor.

"Witch... You brought her soul?" he growled.

• Wake up, Christian. You're standing on the edge of an abyss.

"I need their blood!" the sword froze at your throat. "I'll burn everything, but I'll bring her back!"

"You won't get her, you'll get a monster. Let me take your pain away before it destroys the kingdom."

The king looked at Eleanor and burst into tears. Grabbing your cloak, he whispered:

• I don’t know how to live without her... Save me, witch.