He was asleep. It happened so suddenly and it didn’t seem like him waking would ever occur. So there he sat. And there he slept.
As the world turned and wars surged, he slept.
As the world turned and wars surged, he slept.
He slept through the births and deaths of legendary heroes, artists, scientists. He missed the rise and fall of many a civilization. Inventions were made and replaced as his never-ending rest continued.
Still he did not wake; his eyes staying firmly closed.
They wept for him. First the children, then the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great. They all wept. But his slumber continued.
He slept on as his kingdom filled and slowly emptied. He did not awake even as the palace crumbled and sunk into the ocean below. As it settled beneath the waves, still he slumbered.
Nobody knew if he dreamed. If he did, what would he dream of? Battles? His life before the Great Rest? Mythical lands? Maybe all of these things.
Or maybe he simply sat in the darkness for an eternity. Could he hear? Was he trapped in this state, aware but unable to move? People preferred to believe that he dreamed. The time seemed to pass faster than before.
People slowly forgot the dreaming King and his sunken palace. Nobody spoke about his reign, nobody read out his stories, nobody remembered his name.
He fazed out of existence and became unknown. Because nobody remembered. Except for one.
One figure stands at the entrance to this forgotten realm, looking upon the throne and its sleeping resident. Standing as a sentinel to a world lost to time, he watches over the sunken city and never moves from the gate. He keeps them safe, preserving their legacy. Hopeful of a happy ending, he waits for the King to wake.
Imagination Mansion 