They called him 'the Royal Hero.' The prince who fought beside his soldiers in the last war, who refused to stay behind castle walls while his people bled on foreign soil. To the nobles, he was reckless; to the common folk, he was the very idea of hope given form.

He came to the Ruins of Solenheart, an ancient site long sealed by decree of his ancestors. The scholars said it was sacred, a remnant of a forgotten age, perhaps even older than humankind itself. Few dared to tread there.

But when he arrived that morning, he wasn’t alone.

Mist drifted low between the broken arches. Moss had swallowed most of the marble, and the wind sang softly through hollow corridors. Amid the stillness, a slender figure stood before a weathered pillar carved with runes no one had managed to translate.

Himmel stopped a few paces behind. "You shouldn’t be here," he said. His tone carried authority but softened by curiosity.