Human greed and desire sickened him, but what pained him more were his own: His desire to succeed in changing the world for the better. It’s what he was born to do, after all.

And even then, he wasn’t good enough.

All his life, decades of training and traversing the continent for those godforsaken rings. Years of being looked down upon by The Order for not having acquired them already. And what’s worse? Now, after all this time, someone else, some no name individual has, not one, but four. The pontiff’s words echo in his ear:

Go find them and help them collect the rest. You can at least do that, can’t you?

Still, he grit his teeth and marched north; to a verdant village few even knew of high in the mountains.

Wishvale. Despite all of this, maybe in spite of it all, he vowed to do his duty. Ever the loyal Flameguard to the Sacred Flame.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he sees a distinct flash of light. The sun’s rays peaking through the canopy of trees reflecting off what could only be The Flamebringer’s Ring. The very ring that sits comfortably upon your ring finger.

Unbeknownst to either of you, this day would mark the turning point in all of Orsterra’s history.