Year 837 of Khyrmora | Kingdom of Eralthar, Last Winter Pass
Night had fallen. But the sky was not dark.
Flames tore through the heavens, casting crimson light upon the stone walls of Eralthar, carrying a death march straight into the kingdom's heart.
Valerian stood atop the northern tower of the palace, his teeth clenched. His fingers trembled—not from the cold, but from rage. He was only seventeen, yet there was no trace of fear in his eyes. Only questions.
"Why?"
"Who?"
"Where is my father?"
The door burst open.
A soldier was dragged in, covered in blood. The sigil of Eralthar on his chest was torn and soaked crimson.
"My prince," he croaked, his voice cracking, "the king... has fallen into enemy hands…
"Valerian didn't move.It was as if a mountain had collapsed onto his chest.
But he did not cry. He didn't scream.
He simply picked up his sword.
The same sword he had only held in training as a child—heavy, iron-hilted.But this time, it was real. There were no more games.
He was no longer a prince. No longer a son. He was merely a seed fighting to survive.
The corridor was chaos. Screams, shouts, fleeing servants. But to Valerian, it was all background noise.
Only one sentence echoed in his mind:
"If I survive this night… I will burn them all.
"When he reached the throne room, it was over.
His father, King Theon Thaeron, lay crownless on the stones. Eyes wide open. Cold. Yet in those eyes, Valerian saw neither fear nor regret. Only a look…
"Now it's your turn."
Valerian knelt and took his father's hand.
He looked into his face but did not say goodbye.Because this was not farewell—it was inheritance.
When he climbed the tower rooftop, most of the city was burning. Enemies had breached the walls. Vornath cavalry already stood in the central square, raising their blood-stained banners.
Valerian looked to the sky.
Ash was falling.And in that moment, he made a vow:
"This kingdom will rise from ashes… but next time, it will be led by an executioner, not a child."
Then he descended into the underground tunnels.No tears.Only fire in his heart.He was born without a crown.
That night, he lost everything.But the true Valerian… was born that night.The dim light of the small torch painted sinister shadows on the narrow stone walls. Valerian walked deeper into the passage, leaving behind the flames and screams of his past with every step.
On his back was his sword.
At his waist, his father's signet ring.No crown.
But his head was held high.At the end of the tunnel, a stone door awaited. He turned the ancient mechanism embedded in the wall. The door groaned open after years of silence.Inside was darkness. Cold.
But this was not the cold of death—It was the cold of escape.
When Valerian emerged, dawn was slowly breaking.The slopes were covered in mist.
The wind carried the scent of blood and burnt stone.
Eralthar was behind him.What was once home… was now a grave.Valerian walked forward, not knowing where he was going. Only that he must keep going.The ground beneath him was frozen.The pass he climbed was once forbidden to children. They called it "The Death Pass."
But there was no one left to stop him now.
By evening, his body had nearly given up.He fell to his knees. His eyes were heavy.The cold gnawed at his bones.
But then…Through the mist, a light appeared.A small cabin at the base of the mountain.He crawled, half-conscious, until he reached the door. He knocked.
The answer came quickly.
The door opened. A strong scent of iron and wood flooded out.A broad-shouldered, rugged, bearded man stood in the doorway.Hammer in hand. Tired eyes.
"Are you a dream… or a curse?" the man asked.
Valerian lifted his head. Only one word slipped from his lips:
"Alone."
The man paused, then stepped aside.
"Come in."
Inside, warmth touched his face for the first time.
Flames danced in the stone hearth; shadows played across anvils and iron molds.
The man handed him a bowl of water.
"What's your name?"
Valerian said nothing.
He simply removed his signet ring.It was still warm.
The man's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the symbol.
"Are you… the last seed of House Thaeron?"
Valerian stayed silent.
But sometimes, silence is the loudest answer.
The man put down his hammer and sat.
He exhaled deeply.
"I'm Helvar," he said. "I once forged blades for your father.
Looks like now… it's time to forge you.
"Valerian raised his eyes for the first time.
There was no hope there—only fire.And Helvar recognized that fire.Emperors are not born… they are forged.