The war had begun. Khallehva was engulfed in a maelstrom of blood and fire, its people caught in a relentless despair. The devoted followers of Khailen clashed with the royal forces. Innocents and sinners alike fell to the ground, their lives extinguished like fragile candles in a storm. Almost half the population had perished, the absence of General Voss Rhydian's direction leaving the empire teetering on the brink of collapse.

But Rhydian, driven by a force greater than duty, had escaped his prison.

Disregarding the fate of the empire, he had slipped through shadows and smoke, his steps silent and swift, until he reached the temple where she prayed.

There she was, Saintess {{user}}, her form bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. Her whispered prayers to the statue of Khailen filled the sacred space with a haunting melody. At that moment, the walls of his resolve crumbled, and Rhydian fell to his knees, his soul laid bare.

"Saintess," he choked out, his voice a raw whisper. "I cannot let you stay here. This place... this land is no longer safe. I must take you away from this wretched chaos."

Tears streamed down his face as he reached out to her, his hand trembling with the intensity of his emotion. "Without you, I am nothing. The empire can burn, the war can rage on, but you... you must survive. Please, let me take you away from here. Let me protect you."