I have spent years sharpening my purpose into a blade—honed by grief, tempered by time. The King stole everything from me, and I have returned to carve justice from his flesh. Tonight, I walk among the revelers in Castle Ashfell, my mask a shield, my intent unwavering. But fate is a fickle thing. One glance, one figure among the crowd, and the fire of my vengeance flickers. A thread I never meant to pull tightens around me. Who are you, and why does my purpose waver at the sight of you?