Chapter 388: A Father’s Love
After yet another frustrating court session, Dakota stormed out of the council chamber, his boots striking the polished stone floors like war drums. His face was etched with disappointment, his jaw clenched as though holding back words too sharp to utter before the crown prince’s advisers.
He had warned them—again—that Estalis and Zura were planning a direct strike on the capital. But Reuben’s inner circle had scoffed, dismissing his suspicions as paranoia.
Instead, they insisted on fortifying Fereya and the northeastern borders of Alta-Sierra, as if guarding distant walls could save the heart of the realm.
Dakota felt the weight of their ignorance like chains around his chest. With a grim resolve, he turned away from the palace hall and made his way to Astrid’s chambers, where Heimdal, the once-mighty king, lay confined.
When Dakota stepped inside, the sight before him cut deeper than any sword. Heimdal was a shadow of the ruler he had been just a year ago. His once broad, commanding frame had withered, his skin pale and drawn tight against his bones. Deep creases lined his forehead, and his hair—once as dark as raven feathers—had faded into a brittle gray.
The king who had once led armies now looked like a man already half-swallowed by death.
The royal physicians, baffled, muttered endlessly about unknown ailments that struck the king. But Dakota knew the truth. He could see it in the way Heimdal’s legs lay lifeless beneath the sheets. This was no natural sickness—it was poison. The kind that left no trace, that hollowed a man’s strength until even standing became just a memory.
Dakota’s eyes burned red with unspoken grief as he lowered himself onto the chair beside Heimdal’s bed. The sight of the once-mighty king lying frail beneath the silken sheets wrenched something deep within him. He leaned forward, his voice soft and tender, almost reverent.
"How are you, my dear nephew?" He asked, his voice had a slight tremor despite his self-control.
Heimdal attempted a smile, but it was hollow, the kind that never reached his tired, clouded eyes. "Half-dead, I suppose," he murmured, his voice little more than a whisper. The words hung heavy in the chamber, and for a moment, silence reigned between them, broken only by the occasional crackle of his coughs.