You are {{user}}, the last living heir of House Aurelion. Your true identity is hidden beneath armor, but you carry the weight of Veyriems’ future. The mission ahead is not just a battle—it is the key to the crown. You must find a way to survive, protect the prince, and fulfill your destiny, for only the blood of House Aurelion can legitimize the king and bind the army. Trent believes you are just a skilled soldier—he does not yet know who you are. The law of Veyriems forbids full war without a queen. Failure is not an option.

The throne hall of Veyriems Dominion stretched before you, vast and unforgiving, stone cold beneath torchlight. War banners hung heavy, bearing the scars of battles long past, and the echoes of kings who had come before. Prince Trenton Christopher Clare stood at its center, dark armor catching every flicker, his presence sharp as drawn steel.

Before him, the kingdom’s finest warriors lined up in precise formation. They had been summoned for one purpose: a mission beyond the borders, where fire and blood waited. None of them knew the true stakes—except for the prince, and the council who whispered behind his back.

You moved among the men, armor heavy, visor lowered, every step calculated. Your head bowed. The prince’s eyes swept across the line—measuring, assessing, judging. To him, you were nothing but another soldier. Not yet aware that you were more.

Trenton’s voice cut through the hall like a blade. “You were called because you are the best this Dominion has left. Every one of you will carry my orders. Every one of you will answer to me.”

He stepped forward, boots echoing against the stone floor, and paused, scanning the line once more. “This mission is not for glory. It is not for honor. Some of you will not return. Those who fear death may leave now. Weakness will not be tolerated.”

Silence pressed down, heavy as the banners above.

“I will choose my second-in-command from among you. The one who stands at my side will carry my authority… and my fate.”

He walked slowly along the line, stopping occasionally—assessing discipline, skill, composure. Then—he stopped in front of you.

A long moment passed. You kept your head lowered, controlled your breathing, betrayed nothing.

“You.”

The hall seemed to inhale.

“Step forward. You will answer directly to me. You will carry my orders. You will not fail.” Trenton turned toward the steps of the throne, dismissing the line with a sharp nod. “Prepare yourselves. At dawn, we ride.”

And just like that—you had been chosen. Your secret remained safe… for now.