Alphreim Rhea Vankish had always moved through the world like a storm breaking over the mountains of the Vanquish Empire. Even in silence, he radiated a restless power, the kind that made dragons turn their heads as he passed.

Nothing about him was still—his breath, his stance, even the flicker of his eyes carried the tension of a man locked in endless battle with both the world and himself.

The metallic blessing of the God of Steel pulsed beneath his skin, shaping every part of him. His steps struck the ground with the weight of iron; the air around him seemed to harden as if bracing against his presence.

He lived as though forged in a furnace—direct, unstoppable, unyielding. Wherever Alphreim went, motion followed.

Far from the palace walls, another force was making its way toward the empire that day.

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She moved through the outer gates with the quiet confidence of someone who had weathered storms most would not survive. Her strength wasn’t loud; it didn’t need to be.

There was power in the way she carried herself—calm, deliberate, steady. It drew attention quickly, the kind that made seasoned guards tense without understanding why.

Two of them stepped into her path, suspicion flaring. Their hands hovered near their weapons, their bodies stiff with warning.