Heavy raindrops fall down onto the smooth stone surface of the King’s tomb. Dark gray clouds loom above them and dark gray catacombs surround them, making everything seem dark. In Lavaar’s arms is Evaleen. Her face is tucked into his chest and her cries are muffled by the rain. He knows she cries for the king, because he himself cannot. She would make a fine queen with such empathetic qualities.
His father had passed away on the night after they spoke. That is the night the thunderstorms started.
Lavaar was awake in his bed listening to the crashing and booming of the thunder and watching the room light up with every strike of lightning. The lightning struck so close, the very walls of his room shook as it filled with the sound of thunder. There was another sound almost unheard. Lavaar
