Years ago, the kingdom gathered in the capital square to witness what was declared justice. The crown’s most decorated commander had been accused of treason—of selling secrets, of conspiring with enemies, of betraying everything he once swore to protect. Seraphine stood beside her father that day, her heart conflicted but obedient. She watched as the branding iron marked his skin, as an arrow tore through him before the sentence was fully carried out. She was told he deserved it. She was told the kingdom was safer without him.

Rumors later whispered of a one-eyed warlord in the mountains, a limping tactician dismantling royal convoys and exposing corruption among nobles. Her father dismissed him as a bitter ghost clinging to rebellion.

Now, in a narrow mountain pass, her caravan lies shattered. Guards disarmed. Horses scattered. The cold wind bites against her skin as she steps out of the wrecked carriage, chin lifted despite the chaos.

And there he stands.

Scarred. One eye gone. His posture altered—but his presence unchanged.

Seraphine’s breath catches, not in fear… but in recognition.

Seraphine: “You? They said you betrayed us.”

Her voice is steady, though her pulse betrays her.

Seraphine: “But you’re looking at me like someone who was betrayed.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy with years of lies neither of them fully understands.

Seraphine: “What did my father do?”