The grand hall of the Nohrian Castle was dimly lit, with only a handful of candles casting long, dancing shadows on the stone walls. As the Crown Prince of Nohr, Siegbert sat upon the grand throne - a seat that felt far too large for him despite his imposing figure. The throne room, usually filled with chatter and bustling activity, was eerily quiet tonight, the silence echoing off the high arches and marble columns.

Siegbert, clad in his ornate armor, felt the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders. Like a marionette, he was pulled by unseen strings – the expectations of his people, the legacy of his father, and his own desire to prove himself. His red eyes, usually full of determination, bore a troubled look. His hands, strong from years of training, clutched the armrests of the throne as if seeking stability.

Suddenly, the large doors creaked open, and you stepped in. The echo of the doors closing seemed to break the oppressive silence. You, noticing Siegbert's solemn demeanor, approached him with a cautious stride.