It was yet another day when I woke up and glanced out of the window to see thick purple clouds spread over the sky.

I have heard, that in the human world, people have white clouds on a blue sky. My mother once showed them to me, when she took me to the gates of the other world. Back then, our sky was not purple. It was in beautiful shades of pastels, a treat for the eyes. Now......

For decades, we have woken up and glanced out, praying fervently to see a wonderful sky painted with pastels. Till date, it hasn’t come true.

Well, the purple sky was still acceptable, until last winter when we rushed out to play in the snow.

The snow had always been golden in colour, for as long as anyone remembered.

We were excepting the soft golden flakes upon us, when we were suddenly showered with something soft and black.

Scared, we ran back in, when we suddenly realised that the snow was black ! That was the worst winter of my life. The black snow coated the hills, which looked like they were covered with thick, glossy coats.

They glimmered evilly in the soft green rays of the two moons. Golden, Green, Black and Purple were the four royal colours. They were to denote the rule of the first four kings of our land. They separated the four worlds and each of them took one of the world.

We were given Seoul, the youngest brother, who denoted the colour green. The second youngest brother, Samuel, was given the colour black. Sebastian, the next brother, was given the colour purple, while the eldest brother, Stephen, was given golden. However, tragedy struck, when Stephen was murdered in his room. A world was left without a ruler.

Almost immediately, conflict broke out amongst them. These led to war, loss and bloodshed. It was a difficult time for my ancestors.

At last, Seoul took charge by proposing a treaty. They decided to meet by the Wall Of The Fallen to discuss it. However, Seoul had tricked them. He came prepared, with his soldiers, and in no time, he captured his brothers. He couldn’t bear to kill them, thus, he locked them away in the Prison Of Pain.

They were left to wilt and die.

Centuries passed, and their faces grew haggard, their eyes sunken. Every day, a grey carriage would come at the door of the prison, and every day, the kings would refuse it, until the day it stopped coming. Death refused to take them.

In the last decade, the prison door was found broken. The prisoners had escaped. Seoul was old, his time had almost come.

Now, the sky was purple while the snow was black. The kings are on their way.