Prologue

The first year of the fog

Two men stood embracing emotionally at the top of a tower that had until not too long ago been double its current height. They appeared so visually different - one in his golden armour and bearing a proud family crest on his blood-painted chest, and the other in his subdued, black cloak.

“It’s all thanks to you. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it were not for you.” The young general’s words were an almost incoherent rush, tripping over themselves on his tongue as he spoke. For him, even with the last remnants of war as their backdrop, this feat was still surreal.

The elegant man smiled back at his friend, stepping away from him. “No, this was only possible because you deserve it, Sio - you’ve suffered. I’ve only modestly assisted. Congratulations, all of this is now yours.”

Fire rained from the sky, blazing across and lighting up the ashen fields of the old Kranden Castle, its former, reputable appearance as an impenetrable fortress buried under its own debris. The ground below was bleeding - corpses littered the dirt and soot like blooming flowers. Iron-clad soldiers marched, trampling these flowers underfoot without a single cry, progressing forward in silver rows to only the beat of the drums and their uniform footsteps.

Exhaustion and fatigue suddenly crept onto the dark-haired, green-eyed general’s young face. The weight of the rebellion and all its costs sank in, and continued sinking, etching themselves into his bones.

It was over.

The planning and sacrifices of two generations of his family was now undeniably his success, stamped with the deaths of thousands to prove it. This stamp emblazoned itself into Sio’s heart, burning into the fibres of his being as an emotion he recognised uncomfortably as guilt. He had not quite yet lived thirty years, but already had such a large debt of lives racked up. His stubborn will shook.

Looking up once again at the calm man who had appeared in his life one day like a saviour, he breathed out in a rush: “Was it worth…”

Veronn dusted off his black cloak with a curl of distaste on his lip, but when he turned his face up to meet the bright, bleeding skies, Sio saw a placid smile spread and illuminate his beautiful features. “Of course it was worth it. We stand atop the ruins of Kranden Castle, and its master lies in a pool of his own innards, impaled on a spear somewhere under the rubble. Look at what a beautiful sun burns tonight.” Veronn’s voice quietened to a murmur, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “It will be the last night a sun burns like that…” Seeming to collect his thoughts, he turned his gaze back to Sio. Mirrored in his dark, unreadable eyes were the flickering tongues of the fires that licked away at the land. “The people have rid themselves of a heartless tyrant. My research, thanks to your efforts, has yielded fruit... and you, my dear friend,” he continued, gracefully falling onto one knee, “are King. This humble advisor will always be by your side, guarding you, your kingdom and your family, now and for generations to come. I offer my greetings to King Sio d’Arvillion and the kingdom of Al’Caaran.”

Down below, the army that had marched through the corpses of their enemy and comrades alike stood in silent rows, the ranks of their helmeted heads stretching on endlessly over the hill. The fog was already rolling in, past the borders that had previously been kept up by the Tyrant Magician, eating away all in its path.

The weight of the world fell onto Sio’s shoulders, and he stared into the vast, burning ruins. Slowly turning back around to face the kneeling Veronn, he released his words with difficulty. “I don’t yet know how to be King, and I don’t know how to start rebuilding and reforming when I see these ruins of the Capital that was once so vibrant. But with you and the elder lords to assist me, I am much more at ease.” Stepping forward, he gently helped Veronn up. “My descendants and I will be relying on you further.”

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