Isaiah stood planted like a statue waiting for his King to say what he aready knew and feared. He was glad he wore the helm after all because it hid his grief-stricken face perfectly. He barely moved when he waved his arm passively at Flair. "Leave me be witch." All he wanted to do was walk out of the room, continue out the castle, and keep walking until he reached the Badlands. He didn't care if his death was certain, he would give anything to be free from this cursed room.