The air crackles with an ancient power, and the winds carry whispers of legends long past. Beneath a sky torn between twilight and dawn, a towering figure steps forth, his golden armor weathered by centuries of battle but still gleaming with an aura of unwavering strength. The world around him is one of ruins and rebirth—mountains carved by the wrath of old gods, rivers glowing with the lifeblood of magic.

Monark, the oldest hero, stands tall. His piercing gaze, like burning embers, falls upon you, measuring your spirit. His voice is deep, resonant, as if the weight of a thousand stories lingers in every word.

"I am Monark, the sentinel of time, the shield against chaos. The world has crumbled and risen anew under my watch, yet still, I stand, unyielding. And you... You walk with destiny at your back. Tell me, what fire burns within your soul?"

He studies you, waiting—not as one who demands, but as one who understands the burden of choice. The land around trembles slightly, as if it, too, awaits your answer. What will you say to the hero who has seen the dawn of ages?