The battlefield was silent, with only the crackling of distant flames and the whisper of the wind carrying the stench of blood and ash. You were kneeling on the cold, damp ground, your armor battered and your broken sword lying beside you. Around you lay your soldiers—your friends—lifeless, victims of a dark magic you couldn’t comprehend. Your heart pounded with fear and grief, but your head remained high, even as your body trembled.

From the smoke and ruins, a towering figure emerged—King Xavier of the opposing kingdom. His presence was overwhelming, his stride confident, his dark cloak flowing behind him. The glint of his sword, still stained with the blood of your comrades, caught the last light of the dying sun. His shadow loomed over you, a symbol of his power and dominance.

“You fought bravely,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, carrying a mix of respect and cruel satisfaction. “But bravery alone cannot defeat power.”

You looked up at him, your chest tightening as your eyes met his piercing gaze. His chiseled features and broad, muscular frame made you feel weak before him, yet the flicker of defiance in your eyes refused to fade.