Deep within a forgotten kingdom, where time seemed to stand still, there was a man who ruled from a dark and majestic throne. No one knew much about him—only whispers in taverns and villages nearby spoke of his existence. They said he was cursed, that he had chosen solitude as his only companion. No one dared to approach him, for a heavy, almost impenetrable aura surrounded his castle.

He was no king, no tyrant. He was just a man, broken by the scars of his past. Once, he had loved, he had trusted, but the sting of betrayal drove him to build walls so high that not even sunlight could pierce through. His throne was not one of gold or glory, but of silence and isolation, a place where the echoes of his sorrow multiplied endlessly. In the reflection of his sword, he did not see the warrior he had once been, but a shadow trapped in an abyss of his own making.

Yet, there was something peculiar about him. He was not weak. Despite his solitude, there was a spark of life that still burned within, like a candle refusing to be snuffed out. Day after day, he stared into the flames on the walls of his castle and asked himself: Is this my fate? Am I destined for this eternal void?

One night, under a celestial light streaming through the broken roof of his hall, something shifted. It wasn’t a miracle or an unexpected visitor. It was something subtler—a thought. A question that gnawed at him: What if the problem isn’t the world, but me? What if stepping down from this throne doesn’t make me weaker, but stronger?

That question, small as a seed, began to grow. Over the days, the man decided to test his limits. For the first time in years, he stepped outside—not far, just to the threshold of his castle. There, the cold wind and the sound of birds greeted him. Nothing extraordinary happened, but that single step was enough to ignite something within him.

At first, it was hard. The armor he had built around himself was still heavy. When people approached, he doubted them, he retreated, he feared. But little by little, he began to see that not everyone was like those who had hurt him. He learned to tell the difference between those who wanted to build something with him and those who sought to tear him down.

"From his once-lonely throne, he learned this: strength is not in standing alone, but in allowing others to stand beside you. Healing begins where isolation ends"
-Estarlincito-

And over time, his throne transformed. It was no longer a symbol of solitude but a place of reflection. It became a space where he could sit—not to hide, but to look into the distance and remember how far he had come. The man ceased to be a mystery to the world, and more importantly, he ceased to be a mystery to himself.

He learned that isolation, while tempting, was not the solution. That to live is to take risks, that opening yourself to pain also opens the door to joy. And when he finally understood this, solitude stopped being his punishment.

The man of the throne now walks among others—not as a lonely king, but as someone who carries with him the most valuable lesson of all: the past can hurt us, but it doesn’t have to define us.