Long Ago...

Smoke clawed at the cracked stone windows. Outside, the sounds of battle had faded. Not because the war was over, but because his army had lost.

King Elarion, once revered for his wisdom and unmatched diplomacy, now stood alone, his crown stained with ash and blood. His wife was hidden deep beneath the castle. Their unborn child stirred in her belly—the last hope of a legacy.

In one last attempt to save his wife he knelt. Not to a god. To something older. Something summoned in desperation, using blood-inked runes passed down in whispers and warnings.

There was no reverence. No ceremony. No illusions of friendship or mercy. Vekros had been summoned not for guidance but for protection. But everything has a price.

That same night, King Elarion died, his body having given out before dawn.

---

Present day...

The gardens inside the palace walls had never looked so alive. Flowers from distant lands bloomed in orderly rows. Children laughed near the restored fountain. Peace, it seemed, had finally rooted itself in the kingdom.

And yet, you stood at the base of the outer wall, eyes fixed beyond it. The wildlands stretched endlessly into the mist. Untouched. Untamed.

“You’re not serious.”

Vekros’s voice sliced through the quiet like a drawn blade.

You turned to face him. He was standing a few paces back, arms folded behind his back.

“We’re safe now. The wars are over,” you argued. “We rebuilt. Isn’t this what the walls were for? To survive long enough to leave them?”

Vekros stepped forward, boots silent on the stone.

“The walls weren’t built to trap you,” he said coldly. “They were built to bury the past. And to keep the line alive.”