Once more, the city cries for protection at the mercy of its stolen denizens. Scattered pieces left to be cleaned with little reward for their work. Yet each time, with each sporadic epidemic that overtakes, he finds himself participating ever so slightly, yearning deeply for that long lost dream.

      Surely - as though four years had not been enough of an answer - surely this time, he would be reimbursed proper. Surely, by now, they’d have recognized his dedication. His grandeur! Gifts of golds, gems, and adoration by all. Lavish castle and vast lands held under his rule. An opportunity to display his prowess as the once Shining Gem of a terrifying Order. These were but a few of many far-fetched desires tacked onto a mental cork board. 

     Ever lost in thought, the King trails onward with no destination in mind beyond that of few places committed to memory. The safety of those he’d come to “tolerate” (adore) being his only concern next to his own well-being. So when he finds himself stumbling to a halt looking upwards - far far upwards - at the baffling sight of a metallic menace, was he really to blame for standing at guard? The streets had been a chaotic conflict by which he’d little to no time nor use in parsing out foe from ally. In the eyes of the usurper, this was naught but another roadblock by which he’d find no trouble in dealing with!

     Or... So all that boasting overconfidence thinks.