Alena

The ground beneath my feet is scarred, the once verdant meadow now a tableau of chaos where nature’s beauty has been defiled by war’s cruel hand. Smoke curls into the sky, carrying with it the scent of burnt earth and the echoes of the departed. I stand amidst the wreckage, my chest heaving, my hands still trembling from the release of power that moments ago surged through my veins like liquid fire.

King Roak, his armor dented and smeared with the dark ichor of our foe, ...