The first light of the second day was an omen of what was to come—a kingdom still scarred, yet determined to rise again. In the wake of the fall of King Xavier, the weight of leadership now rested squarely on my shoulders. But even as I walked the halls of the palace, the burden was not only mine to bear. The kingdom had lost much, but more than that, it had lost purpose. It is a king's duty not just to rule, but to reignite the flame of purpose in the hearts of his people. And so today, I focused not on the kingdom's borders, nor its riches, but on its souls.
I began with the surviving squires. These men—Banquan the Steadfast, Simeon the Black, Axford of the Catapult Party, and Chankin the Kingdom's Hammer—once were pillars of our army. Now, they are but ghosts of their former selves. The trauma they carry from the battle, the loss of King Xavier, and the horrors they witnessed have drained them of all they once held dear. They are no longer the warriors they were, but lost men, scattered by the winds of despair.
It is said that when one falls to the greed, the corruption leaves an indelible mark. Their memories blur, their sense of self shatters. And thus, these men—once mighty in both body and spirit—are now but husks, struggling to remember the very essence of who they are. But I will not let them fade into nothingness. I will bring them back.
I set aside the grand matters of state for the day and instead focused on something more personal. I spoke to each of them, one by one. Banquan, once a man of unwavering strength, his heart now weighed down by grief, was the first. I took him to the royal armory and placed a blade back into his hands. It had been his since he first became a squire. He hesitated, almost as if the weapon were foreign to him. But slowly, the muscle memory returned. The weight of the steel in his grip, the familiarity of the blade—it began to stir something in him. A spark. A reminder of who he once was.
Next, I turned to Simeon the Black, a master of strategy and warfare. His mind, sharp as ever, had been dulled by the endless pain of loss. I brought him to the map table, where King Xavier had once pored over the kingdom's borders and battle plans. "You know this land, Simeon," I said to him. "Help me understand it. Help me find our way forward." It took time, but soon, he began marking the maps again, his hands steady, his mind clearer. Slowly, his confidence returned, and I saw the strategist within him emerge once more.
Axford, the man of the catapults, was next. Once an engineer of unparalleled skill, he had turned away from his craft in the wake of the kingdom's fall. His heart, like that of his comrades, had broken under the weight of the loss. But I led him to the workshop, where the catapults lay untouched, as if frozen in time. "We need your hands, Axford," I told him. "The kingdom needs you." He stood there for a long while, staring at the machines. But then, with a quiet nod, he took up his tools and began to work once more. Slowly but surely, the workshop began to hum again with the sound of creation.
Lastly, I went to Chankin, the Kingdom's Hammer. His strength had always been his greatest asset, but the loss of the king had robbed him of his will to fight. I knew that if I was to restore his spirit, I needed to return him to the one thing he loved—combat. I took him to the sparring grounds, where warriors once honed their skills. "Show me your strength, Chankin," I challenged him. "You are the Kingdom's Hammer. Prove it." It took several attempts, but eventually, his hands grasped his weapon again, and he swung with the fury and power of a man rediscovering his purpose.
Throughout the day, I watched as each of these men slowly, but surely, began to piece themselves back together. It was not easy, nor was it immediate, but progress was made. The spark of life, of purpose, had been reignited in each of them. They were no longer ghosts; they were warriors once more.
But it was not only the squires who needed restoration. The kingdom itself, with its broken economy and underemployment, required attention. We had to restore the fabric of our society, the lifeblood that keeps the wheels of progress turning. The royal vault, once filled with the wealth of King Xavier's reign, had been left untouched since the day of his fall. And so, I took from it—gold that had been set aside for the kingdom's future. Gold that now, in our time of need, would serve a different purpose.
I instructed the royal treasurers to distribute this gold among the workers, the farmers, the artisans, and the builders who had lost their livelihoods in the wake of the greed's destruction. The kingdom needed to return to its roots, to its labor, to its work. The workers, once displaced, would now be the hands that rebuilt what had been torn asunder. Every man and woman, no matter their station, would have a role to play in the kingdom's revival.
The day ended with a sense of quiet triumph. Though we had lost much, we had not lost everything. There was still work to be done, and the kingdom still had its strength. Tomorrow, we would continue to rebuild. But for today, I could rest knowing that the spark of purpose had returned to the heart of my people. And for that, I was grateful.