Elliot had finally found the place he would call home. After years wandering across distant lands, studying magic, collecting ancient knowledge, and mastering the secrets of wandcrafting, he chose to return to Westeros. There, in the northern lands that would one day be known as the Vale, he envisioned the foundation of his own kingdom.
The site he selected was a rugged and imposing mountain by the sea, where the waves crashed against dark cliffs. The view from the top was breathtaking, and the high altitude gave him a strategic advantage. He decided to build his castle right there, at the edge of the mountain, where the rock met the ocean. It would be a fortress unlike any the world had seen, both mystical and architectural, and the heart of a new civilization.
The construction took an entire year. Using magic, Elliot levitated colossal black stones from deep within the mountain, cutting them with precision and fitting them together as if guided by invisible hands. The architecture followed the baroque style he had admired in old magical cities—elegant curves, detailed columns, and ornamented domes. The castle slowly took form: towers rose like dark fingers toward the sky, bridges connected inner courtyards, and enormous stained-glass windows reflected the light of the moon in vibrant shades of purple and blue.
At the entrance of the castle, a gate forged in enchanted iron bore an ancient sigil Elliot himself had created—an open eye surrounded by dragon wings, symbolizing vision, power, and legacy. The throne room was majestic, built into the mountain itself, with a ceiling so high that its top was hidden in shadow. There, Elliot placed his throne—carved from obsidian and adorned with veins of silver, etched with runes that pulsed faintly when he channeled magic nearby.
Meanwhile, the people who had followed him—men, women, and children from distant corners of the known world—began building their own homes. With Elliot's guidance, they used simple tools at first, but soon adopted magic and techniques he shared. In two years, a small city had formed near the base of the castle, with streets paved in smooth stone, public baths, fountains that never dried, and houses with curved roofs and elegant windows. About ten thousand people now lived under his protection.
But Elliot knew that if he wanted to establish a true kingdom, he would need more than walls and beauty—he would need power. The mountains were inhabited by scattered tribes and local warlords who ruled through strength alone. To conquer them, he needed an army. And for an army, he needed weapons.
Exploring the surrounding region, Elliot found an ancient iron deposit buried forty kilometers from the castle, untouched for generations. The tribes only used bronze weapons and did not understand the value or strength of iron. So, he began the development of the mine, teaching the villagers how to extract and smelt iron, and how to forge it into swords, spears, and armor. He used his own magical forge within the castle to demonstrate techniques never seen before—using runes to increase durability, enchanting blades with spells of sharpness and fire resistance.
By the end of the year, Elliot had trained and equipped three thousand soldiers. They wore polished iron armor and wielded weapons of formidable quality. Compared to the bronze-wielding tribes, his troops were walking fortresses. They trained day and night, combining swordsmanship with magical formations, drills, and combat strategy that Elliot had learned throughout his travels.
As for Elliot himself, he wore a black armor that seemed forged from shadow itself. It resembled the armor of Sauron from old tales—imposing, dark, with spiked shoulder guards and a long cape of dragon silk. His helmet had a crest in the shape of a phoenix reborn from flames, and it radiated a subtle magical pressure that caused fear even in his allies.
At his side, he carried not only his faithful wand—still flawless, the same one he had crafted years ago with goblin silver and the core of a Thunderbird feather—but also a new weapon: a massive two-meter black sword, covered in runes of forgotten magic. Forged with goblin silver and enchanted with spells of magical conductivity, the blade hummed faintly when Elliot gripped it, responding to the power in his blood.
With his castle complete, his city flourishing, and an army ready, Elliot looked to the mountains, where the smoke of primitive tribes still rose. He would not wait for them to come. He would march to them, not as a conqueror driven by bloodlust, but as a king claiming his rightful dominion. His reign was just beginning, and the world would soon hear the name Elliot Grey—mage, warrior, builder of empires.