I remember that morning. The halls were dark after the last purge of the infected in my keep. Thousands of my beloved citizens and guards. Killed, all in the name of keeping this kingdom safe. It was a devastating loss for us all. But it was required.

I walked the very halls, relighting the torches and lights. There I saw him. My dreadful son. He had lost his birth mother in the purge. He was hurting. I can't blame him. 

Grief is a powerful force in our lives.

I offered him solace. I wanted to be there for him. To be a father for once. But he pushed me away. He was crying in sadness. And hate. 

The usual blue hue of our essence was a violent magenta on him. The first sign of infection among our race.

I was devastated.

Ruined. 

It broke my heart to kill him, but death is a mercy compared to this curse.

I impaled him through the core with Oblitus, and for once, for just a moment, he looked at me in a familiar sadness. A realization of our connection, our blood, our role as father and son.

But it was too late to be a father to him, and too late for him to crave my praise as my son.

I will never forget him, and I could never forget his final words, not even in my death could I forget.

“Your towers reign high... symbolizing freedom... but you are still trapped, my King..."