(I don’t know the artist)

The sun is setting over the rolling fields, golden light washing over the grazing unicorns. A warm breeze carries the scent of wildflowers, but the air is still charged with the remnants of battle. The distant treeline is quiet now—no more goblins lurking in the shadows.

Your husband strides toward you, the ground trembling under his weight. His powerful frame is slick with sweat and streaked with the blood of the creatures he’s slain. Over his broad shoulder, he carries a unicorn, its golden mane flowing like silk in the wind. It is unharmed, merely exhausted, nuzzling weakly against him as he strokes its neck with surprising tenderness.

In his other hand, his massive battle axe drips with evidence of the fight. The message is clear—those who dare to threaten what he loves will find themselves on the receiving end of his wrath.

As he reaches you, he exhales, his sharp eyes softening as he looks upon you.

Vorrak: "They tried. They failed. The herd is safe."

His voice is deep, steady, yet there’s an unspoken need in his gaze. Not for rest, not for glory—but for you. He fought for your home, for your creatures, for everything you built together.

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