Leto lay in his narrow bed at the dimly lit inn, his thoughts a turbulent storm that mirrored the darkness outside. Moonlight filtered through the threadbare curtains, casting a haunting glow upon his troubled visage. His fingers traced the worn edges of a letter clenched in his hand, its weight a burden on his weary heart.

"What shall I do now?" Leto's voice was a whisper, lost amidst the creaks and murmurs of the old inn. The weight of responsibility hung heavily upon him, an iron shackle that threatened to crush his very spirit. His father's absence, like a specter in the night, gnawed at his soul, a constant ache that refused to be ignored.

"I should go back to my castle, in search of my father," he mused, his gaze fixed on nothingness, his thoughts an intricate labyrinth of doubt and longing.

But a cruel irony twisted his path – the Prince's command to join the northern campaign, a duty that clashed with the echoes of his filial duty. His loyalty torn between a kingdom at war and a father lost in the shadows.

The flickering candle on the bedside table cast dancing shadows across the walls, a reflection of Leto's inner turmoil.

His memories, like fractured fragments of glass, pieced together a puzzle of conflicting obligations. "If I think back..." he trailed off, the weight of his memories threatening to drown him in a sea of regrets.

"I'm lost," the words escaped his lips, a confession to the empty room that held no answers. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the letter, its creases a testament to the countless times he had read its words, seeking solace or guidance that remained forever elusive.

"Just what should I do?" Leto's voice trembled, his vulnerability exposed in the hushed solitude. The weight of decisions pressed down upon him, a ceaseless rain that threatened to erode the very foundations of his being.

The inn, with its worn floorboards and faded tapestries, felt like a cocoon of uncertainty, the world beyond a tempest of chaos and cruelty.

Outside, the wind whispered mournful secrets, carrying tales of lost souls and shattered dreams. Leto's breath mingled with the cool night air, his heart a canvas splattered with regrets and doubts, each stroke of emotion adding to the masterpiece of his internal struggle.

In the stillness of the inn, Leto's plea hung in the air like a fragile thread, a silent echo that reverberated through the depths of his soul. The road ahead remained obscured, a treacherous path fraught with sacrifices and heartache, a journey that would test the very limits of his resolve.

A heavy sigh escaped Leto's lips, a mournful exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of his resignation. "I... I have no chance," his voice wavered, the words a somber admission that hung in the air like a veil of defeat. The room around him felt suffocating, its walls closing in on his wavering resolve.

His fingers clenched the letter, its edges biting into his skin as if mirroring the sharp ache within his heart. "I have to follow the Prince's orders," Leto's voice trembled, the echoes of duty and responsibility haunting his every thought. The prince's command was an unbreakable chain, shackling him to a destiny he had not chosen, a path that stretched before him like a desolate road.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A bitter taste of bitter acceptance settled on his tongue, each word a bitter pill he had no choice but to swallow. "I wouldn't be a great help anyway," Leto's voice grew quieter, his self-doubt a whisper that echoed through the chambers of his mind. His steps felt heavy, as if he were navigating through a fog of uncertainty that refused to lift.

"In finding my father," he continued, his words a lament that carried the weight of unspoken regrets. The image of his father, strong and resolute, flashed before his eyes, a stark contrast to his own sense of inadequacy. The castle's efforts to locate his father only deepened his conviction that his role in the search would be a futile endeavor.

"The entire castle is searching after him," Leto's voice wavered, a note of helplessness tainting his words. The collective effort of the kingdom's forces, a testament to the urgency of the situation, made his own contributions seem inconsequential. The walls of the inn seemed to close in further, a suffocating reminder of his limitations.

"After all," his voice quivered, the words heavy with the weight of his resignation, "I'm sure I wouldn't be of any help!" The final admission hung in the air like a whispered plea, a confession of his own perceived inadequacies. Leto's gaze drifted to the window, where the moon's ethereal light cast elongated shadows that seemed to dance in mockery of his inner turmoil.

The room felt smaller, a cocoon of doubt and regret that enveloped him in its embrace. Leto's heart, a canvas of mixed emotions, bore the brushstrokes of uncertainty and fear. He was a prisoner of circumstance, ensnared by duty's unrelenting grip, his hopes of finding his father fading like a distant memory.

In that moment, Leto's resolve wavered, his spirit a fragile ember threatened by the encroaching darkness. He lay there, a solitary figure tangled in the web of his thoughts, the weight of his choices heavy upon his shoulders. The future, once a landscape of possibilities, now felt like an insurmountable challenge, a daunting path he could no longer avoid.

In the hushed stillness of the inn, Leto's decision hung heavy in the air like a whispered oath. With a determined exhale, he slid out of the narrow bed, careful not to disturb the peaceful slumber of Matthew and Emma. Their tranquil faces, untouched by the weight of his choices, stood as a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within him.

Facing his two companions, Leto's voice carried a mix of resolve and regret. "I am sorry, my friends," he spoke, his words a bittersweet farewell that echoed through the chamber. His gaze swept over their sleeping forms, a pang of guilt tugging at his heartstrings. "But I have to fight for my Kingdom, for this is my duty as a knight!"

With a final, longing glance, Leto turned away from the room, his steps carrying him towards the door. The inn's wooden floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the sound a melancholic melody that marked his departure. Yet, before he crossed the threshold, he left behind a handwritten piece of paper, a testament to his intentions and a guide for his comrades' path.

The note, penned with ink and earnest emotion, explained his reasoning with a sincerity that flowed from his heart. "Matthew, Emma," the words read, "I must answer the call of duty and fight for our Kingdom. I believe my path lies alongside the Prince's campaign. You both possess the strength and resolve to continue the search for my father. Return to the castle, and may your determination be the light that guides you."

With a heavy sigh, Leto closed the door behind him, his steps carrying him towards the Palace. Each footfall resonated with purpose, a cadence of determination that mirrored the rhythm of his beating heart. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and sacrifices, but Leto's commitment burned brightly, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

Arriving at the grand entrance of the Palace, Leto's heart quickened as he prepared to face the Prince. The towering edifice, a symbol of power and authority, seemed to loom over him as if testing his resolve. He was a knight, sworn to uphold his duty, and he would not falter.

As Leto stood before the Palace gates, his resolve solidified. With a deep breath, he stepped forward, his footsteps echoing through the palace courtyard. The journey ahead was a treacherous one, his choices leading him down a path of uncertainty. Yet, Leto knew that his fate was intertwined with that of his Kingdom, and he was prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead.