The sea whispered promises of glory the night Yovainne left. The salt in the air stung his lips, but not as much as the last words his wife had spoken to him. He didn’t look back—not at the lantern she held trembling in her hands, not at the small figure of his son peering through the doorway. If he had, he might have never left.

War had called him, a duty greater than love, or so he told himself. The kingdom needed him. His blade would carve history. His name would be sung in halls long after his body had turned to dust.

But as years passed and the battlefield became his home, he began to wonder—was it truly duty that drove him forward, or was he merely running from the life he had abandoned?