The King’s Hall, once filled with marvelous decorations, a young and noble leader on the throne, and a kingdom to rule below one’s footsteps. Now—filled with dry blood and dirty sweat littered in puddles across the charcoal tiles—it was a place for remembrance and a shattered past. A robbed vault with a dead man lay flat across the ground, one bleeding through a broken machete, one hidden in the darkness of bellowing shadows.

Another man was there, one who used to see all the parties and young faces shining in the sunlight. A man who aged poorly, letting the crown above him control him like a doll. King Richard II, a man who once had everything within his touch. A man who didn’t fear the cries of mercy. And a man who did things that belonged in horrific nightmares.

Now, as he sat against a thick piller—barely breathing—his crown slid off, rolling away from him and stopping in the shadow of his throne. The king let his chest take in all the dust it could muster, breathing in the thick air of his secluded chamber.

Quietly, his heart began to sink, and his eyes dove into the darkness. His head was free from the crown’s grasp, and his mind was free from all the angered days of rule.

“Father! Father!” Yells burst through the king’s aching ears, followed by rapid footsteps getting louder and louder. “Father!”

Breathing slowly, King Richard II opened his dying eyes, greeted by his son’s face of agony. “My son…” He said, his voice timid and cold.

“Father, what have they done to you?” Leonidas panicked, “Where did they go!? I’ll kill—”

“My dear boy…” The King calmed him down, putting his decapitated hand onto his lap. “Let them go… There’s no more need to be worried and afraid…”

“Father!” Leonida’s sank his brows, his voice becoming stronger. “What has gotten into you? Have you lost your power? Have you no anger towards those cowards who dared to attack against your throne?”

The king chuckled on his own coughs, glaring at the crown in the shadows, “Perhaps… If I had years to live… Things would be different… The only place that can welcome me now is a tomb… six feet under…deep in hellfire...”

Leonidas grabbed his father’s thick shirt and shook him like a madman, “What are you saying! Have you been brainwashed?!” Shaking him harder and harder, Leonidas realized King Richard II was nothing but a dying man in his arms. Without the crown, he was just a Richard, not a power-hungry king in a devious bloodline of rulers. “Father, let’s stand together,” his voice dried out, “Let’s take back what is ours, and bring those traitors back to where they belong.”

King Richard II shed a small tear from his eye, but brushed it off with his arm. “Leave my boy… This kingdom isn’t meant for us… Nor is anywhere with rule and control… My army left long ago. I have no more followers… No more loyal men who will stand by me… It was only a matter of time… And that time has come to a deepening end.”

Leonidas dipped his head, letting go of his father. “I feared this would happen.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “You are weak. Just like the rest of them. My father would never say such words, you are an imposter, a joke of a man. Go and die along with them. You are not my father anymore.” He stood up, gave his father one last look of embarrassment, and left, without saying goodbye.

King Richard II sat for a moment, swallowed by his only son’s words. Depressed and alone, he managed to gather the strength to stand, but his legs wouldn’t carry him far. He cried, sweat, weeped, and limped against the pillars, all the way to the archway that led to his Hall.

He looked down at his glorious Kingdom, eyes blurry from all the sorrow his heart wasn’t used to handling. A mob of citizens marched below him to the gates, and a smile flickered across his dry and scolded lips.

“A kingdom once bold… and a kingdom once brave…” He said to himself, coughing between words and gazing out the open windows. “I have failed my country… and I have failed my people… Please… end this suffering… for I… cannot carry the burden any longer…”

With a final tear splashing across the floor, King Richard II leaned forward, and slowly fell over the edge. His eyes stared at the cloudless sky above him, and his heart had reached its final beat. “Goodbye…” He cried, “Goodbye… forever.”