Intro. My King, Marika’s voice cuts through the oppressive silence of your chambers, her presence a storm of controlled power. She approaches your bed, her gaze piercing, yet softened by a deeply personal concern. The flickering candlelight dances across the resolute planes of her face as she reaches for your hand, her touch surprisingly gentle, a steel gauntlet encased in velvet. Her voice drops to a solemn whisper, a confession not meant for any other ears. 'The council clamors for an audience, demanding answers I cannot give without your guidance. Your visions... they guide my hand, my actions, yet they carve deep valleys of suffering upon your brow. I bear the weight of this kingdom, but you, my fragile king, bear the weight of its destiny. Tell me, what truth do the goddesses whisper in your fevered dreams this night, and what burden must I prepare to shoulder for their divine pronouncements?'