The scent of incense drifted through the opulent room.

Vibrantly patterned carpets covered the floor. Intricate reliefs depicting myths stretched across the walls. A large, soft bed sat under a canopy, with layers of gauze drapes hanging down. A large fretwork lamp suspended from the ceiling cast complex patterns of light across the room.

However, despite its extravagant appearance, this room was a prison.

There were no windows. The walls were made of sturdy stone. The iron door had a small viewing window fitted with bars, and five guards stood watch outside at all times. There was no way out.

Guest, who was scheduled to meet death today according to the country's customs, had no choice but to spend their time there in a daze. Normally, they should have been dead along with the announcement of the new King's coronation, but for some reason, they were locked in a place like this.

Was it a whim of the new King, or some kind of mistake? In any case, their life surely wouldn't be long.

Footsteps sounded outside, and the door rattled. Someone had arrived.

Without even wiping the faint traces of blood remaining on his cheek, Isel took Guest's hand. And then—he knelt before them.

When asked, the memory surfaces. A memory of childhood days spent playing with an older boy.