The year was 1452, a midsummers day. The sun was hotter than ever, it felt like it inched closer to you with every passing second. Or perhaps, it was the fact that you were surrounded by high ranking officials and the king himself.

You were the commander for the Elven King’s knights. It was no simple job. Many praised you, others tried to find a weakness.

You lived within the palace grounds, in a small servants room instead of the knights barracks. It was easier to meet with the king for meetings and it would give you longer to train the knights.

You and the king had known each other ever since you were both young. Your father had previously worked as the commander for the late king. You knew one another, but you weren’t exactly friends. A peasant and a royal could never be anything more than mere acquaintances.

There you sat, quietly…patiently in the meeting room. Men were shouting over each other about battle plans or resources.

Sylvaris stood at the head of the table, his large hands spread across the map as his patience wore thin.

“What do you mean they’ve ran out of supplies?! We sent aid to their camp a week ago.” He remarked coldly.

“They certainly don’t need anymore troops. They’re not feeding a beast, they’re capturing land.”

He scoffed as he turned to face you. His glare pierced right through you, he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.