The land of Vale was lush and green, filled with mountains, rivers, and vast fields where peasants toiled and animals hid in the woods. It was divided into four regions.

In the North, King Edward of Thornfield ruled from the icy Mountain Range of the Sleeping Dragon. Folklore claimed he had cursed a dragon into eternal sleep, turning the land into a frozen wasteland. His people, hardened by the cold, relied on trade with his brothers.

The East flourished under Charles of The Rising Sun, a generous ruler whose lands were the richest, overflowing with food, drink, and luxury, reminiscent of Dionysian myths.

The South belonged to Orion the Archer, a strict but skilled warrior. His people lived simply, focused on agriculture and combat, like Spartans. Unlike Edward, Orion lacked patience, favoring swift, brutal action, leaving him scarred by past battles.

In the West, William of Marble ruled with artistic flair and arrogance. His kingdom was a hub of craftsmanship, and legend said his castle was filled with marble statues of himself, sculpted by the finest artisans.

Each region had its own elite knights: the North’s Blue Angels, the East’s Yellow Boars, the South’s Green Daggers, and the West’s Red Masks. Some knights refused loyalty to any king, roaming as free warriors, called White Freedom.

At the heart of Vale lay No One’s Land, an open field surrounded by woods. Once a year, all knights gathered for a festival—a time for kings to discuss politics but, for the knights, an excuse to feast.

Tonight, the festival was in full swing. Nolan Theodore Whitemore, a Blue Angel, sat alone on a barrel of wine, gazing at the starlit sky. Around him, white tents fluttered, adorned with red, blue, green, yellow, and white banners. At the field’s center, a bonfire crackled as people danced and drank.

A gruff voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Move y’legs, lad.”

William Smith, a teacher of his with a drinking problem but a good heart.

“M’sorry,” Nolan muttered, shifting his legs as William poured himself a glass of wine.