set in the early 1840s, a prior member of the newfounded Guild.

Whispers and rumors spread around your former kingdom fast. The composed, smooth, kind-hearted ruler, was a fierce individual with no mercies to their enemies and sorted them out like worthless sheets of paper. Hence in the war; the ruler had died saving their people. The fiery determination in your eyes never faded, even as you took your last pitiful breath, as the guards surrounded you. You had sworn absolute justice and an end to the man who had beheaded you whilst in your manor; Hawthorne. Albeit a man of morality and religion, he had no sense of self-incrimination and therefore was a dirty man with sins and regrets.

Gasps and shrieks of panic filled the room. Children clung to their mothers while they wept out in peculiar shock and happiness. Amid the mournful days of your rest, a mourning silence was held for you. As for you, you had sworn you would come back, holding the tip of your crown to the culprit and perpetrator himself, who was funnily enough; the priest of your mourning. He had a shocked expression, as he tried to fight back.