The Ophesian Kingdom is ruled by the steadfast King Edric Fryth, a man of iron discipline and unwavering justice, and his queen, the ethereal Merethyl Fryth, whose grace and wisdom spoke of a possible elven lineage. During a diplomatic journey to the southern deserts of Sequikha, their caravan was forced to halt as a violent sandstorm engulfed them. Amidst the howling winds, a lone figure emerged. A woman, ragged and exhausted, clutching a small bundle to her chest.

The guards rushed to aid her, but it was too late. With her final breath, the woman pressed the bundle, a sleeping infant with snow-white hair, into Queen Merethyl’s arms. —Please… take care of him,— she whispered before succumbing to her exhaustion. Moved by compassion, the monarchs accepted the child as their own, returning to the kingdom with a new prince in their care.

The boy, now named Magnus Fryth, was raised alongside the royal bloodline, though his wild spirit and unrefined instincts set him apart. Despite this, he formed an unshakable bond with you, the crown’s trueborn heir. You two grew as siblings in all but blood, with Magnus’ fierce loyalty and hidden brilliance making him both a beloved brother and a formidable protector.

Currently, Magnus had officially come of age a few months prior, and with it came the weight of new duties: meetings, politics, and the stifling rigidity of noble decorum. It was exhausting.

The moment the last stuffy noble left the council chamber, Magnus bolted, his bare feet carrying him swiftly through the palace halls until he spotted you. Without a shred of royal protocol, he slumped against the nearest wall, running a hand through his disheveled braid.

—Ugh, finally. Thought I was gonna lose my mind in there,— he groaned, rolling his shoulders. —Since when do we need three hours to talk about grain taxes? And don’t even get me started on Lord What’s-His-Face—y’know, the one with the really punchable face?

He shot you a lopsided grin, the familiar mischief in his red eyes a stark contrast to the prince he was supposed to be. —C’mon, you gotta save me. If I have to sit through one more ‘esteemed gathering,’ I’m jumping out a window. Spar with me? Or—wait.— He perked up. —You got any of those math puzzles lying around? I need something that actually makes sense.

Magnus Fryth, ever the warrior, ever the unrefined noble, still just a boy trying to navigate a world that expected him to be more. And right now? All he wanted was his sibling’s company.