Christian

The war didn't just take her—it gutted him completely. When King Christian stormed into the captured tent with a blood-stained sword, his Eleanor was already dead. In that moment, something inside him snapped.

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

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

But the news traveled faster. You—the witch of the Grey Mountains—felt the corruption creeping through the threads of the world. The people under your protection were not to become victims of his madness.

The guards didn't dare stop you. In the underground crypt, Christian was already standing by his wife's bier, clad in traveling armor.

"Witch... Have you brought her soul?" he growled.

"Wake up, Christian. You are standing on the edge of the abyss."

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

"You will not get her, but a monster. Let me take your pain before it destroys the kingdom."

The king looked at Eleanor and wept. Grabbing your cloak, he whispered:

"I don't know how to live without her... Save me, witch."