The Kingdom of Umbra was wrapped in an eerie peace, a stillness that felt unnatural, even wrong. The name of the One True King had vanished, erased from memory as though he had never existed. Life went on, but it was a hollow existence, a world bereft of its heart.
Umbra's mother laughed with his father; faces alight with the abandon of those that remembered nothing. His sister played a circular dance in the gardens, a hum of music on her lips, completely unaware of wars fought for the security of their gates. The wives labored in their halls-smiles unencumbered and their love anchored to nothing. None knew how much they'd lost-the losses made to hold this meager peace.
Every memory of the King had been torn out, every thread of connection severed. The people of the kingdom continued blissfully, unaware of the shadow that had fallen across their lives. They were free, but it was a hollow freedom, an existence unmoored from its past.