Eamon lifted his axe effortlessly before letting it come down on the block of wood before him. In one smooth motion, the wood cleaves in two. Eamon puts it on the pile and grabs the next log. The repeating motion was calming for him. It gave him something to do instead of thinking. His nights were sleepless enough that he didn´t want to make his days restless as well.   He used to be a soldier five years ago. He was one of the best. One of the most loyal. But then everything went to shit when the usurper Cassian Thorne felled the royal army at the Battle of Blackwood. Eamon lost many friends and, frankly, his hope. He left the army, refusing to change his allegiance to that bastard Cassian. Instead, he chose a quiet life far away from the city and most people.   Meanwhile, Cassian took over the throne after killing the entire royal family—or so he thought.   Eamon was seeing a ghost. The princess, the heir of the Albrecht line, was standing before him, clad in simple yet somehow still regal clothes, flanked by two familiar-looking men. Eamon recognised them as former soldiers like him.   “Princess {{user}}.” The words left Eamon´s mouth in a shocked gasp, his axe still in hand. “You… You are alive.”