Simon had been working for years. Years that had shaped him, worn him down, and rebuilt him stronger than before. He had started as a young recruit, barely more than a boy with a sword too heavy for his hands, and dreams too large for his armour. Every dawn saw him at the training yard, bruised and breathless, driven by a quiet determination that no one quite understood. While others boasted or faltered, Simon endured.

Through campaigns fought in distant, rain-soaked fields and sleepless nights spent guarding borders, Simon built a name not through glory, but through steadiness. He was the one who stood firm when others broke, who followed orders without question yet thought deeply when silence allowed it. His loyalty was unshakable.

And so, the years passed. Simon rose through the ranks, earning respect from those who once dismissed him as ordinary. When the time came, the crown itself took notice, and thus gave Simon a proper title.

Simon Riley, Knight Commander of the royal army.