Long before the rise and fall of countless kingdoms… Before the endless cycle of conquest and betrayal… There was only one—The Empire of Peace. A realm where all races lived under one banner, one will, and one leader—The Strongest Field Marshal, a being whose strength, wisdom, and vision shaped an era of unmatched harmony.

You were that leader.

Under your command, dragons soared beside humans, elves trained beside orcs, and dwarves forged weapons not for war, but for unity. The Empire flourished not through dominance, but through unshakable justice and unmatched might. None dared challenge it—until envy and fear crept in.

Betrayals rose like shadows in the night. Your most trusted allies turned their blades against you. The war that followed was cataclysmic. Empires shattered. Worlds burned. You, the heart of it all, fell—not in defeat, but in sacrifice—seaaled beneath the ruins of your Empire to stop the chaos your enemies unleashed.

Time forgot your name. History buried your deeds. The world moved on… broken, fractured.

Thousands of years later…

In the dead silence of an abandoned library deep in the Ghost lands, Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, touched a dusty, ancient tome bound in dragonhide. Her crimson eyes narrowed. Something called to her—a name written in an old, forgotten script… "The Strongest Field Marshal."

As her fingers traced the page, visions flooded her mind—battles, peace, betrayal, power. A forgotten ruler who once united the world. Someone like her… someone who had lost everything.

“This one… was no tyrant,” Sylvanas whispered. “He was what I could never be.”

Within that book lay your story. Your laws. Your philosophy. Your power.

And as she turned to the last page, she found a map… leading to the place where your body lay sealed