On the vast continent of Argazir, if we travel from the eastern lands toward the west, our eyes will be drawn to the ancient stone wall known as the ArchaWall. This wall has withstood the test of time for thousands of years, built to protect the southern lands from the fierce barbarians dwelling north of the wall. It stretches for hundreds of miles, beginning at its connection to the SilverPeak Mountains, which rise high as if to challenge the sky. The peaks are covered in thick snow year-round, with thin and cold air. Strong winds blow snow in swirling dust, like icy currents striking the body with great force.

On the other end, the ArchaWall meets the basin of the turbulent Shadowtide, where water rushes continuously, with the sound of waves crashing against rocks echoing constantly. This basin is known for its ferocious and dangerous currents. Those who pass through risk being swallowed by its labyrinthine waterways. It is a place both terrifying and captivating, with dense forests inhabited by wild animals, making any journey by land or water a life-threatening adventure.

The ArchaWall itself is a grand and ancient structure, with the surface of each stone bearing the marks of time and the cracks from past battles. Its gray, muted stones are covered with moss and vines climbing along the wall. Though it appears aged and worn, the wall remains a symbol of strength, a testament to its past role in defending the southern lands from invasion.

South of the wall stands the ancient castle of FortisTurris, built during the same era as the ArchaWall. Its architecture reflects the grandeur and magnificence of ancient Gothic style, with towering stone columns, narrow and elongated windows adorned with stained glass that has faded with time but still retains the traces of past beauty. Inside the castle, there is an air of antiquity and legends of past wars. The wind that blows through the corners of the castle seems to whisper tales of secrets hidden within those stones.

FortisTurris serves as the residence for various noble families who take turns guarding the wall and maintaining this structure through every age. The families who have come through have left traces of their power and duties within these stone walls. The charm of FortisTurris never fades; it stands as a silent observer of a long history, enduring through battles and the changing tides of the world.

Currently, FortisTurris is home to the Alvinaris family, exiled to this isolated place after their defeat in a war centuries ago. The war arose from a conflict of beliefs between the war god Araska and the goddess of mercy, Venia. The Alvinaris family once held power over the throne of EternaLand, believing in Araska, a god who emphasized victory and strength as the core of ruling the land.

However, these beliefs were challenged by the Libertas family, who worshiped the goddess Venia, the deity of peace and mercy. The conflict of beliefs erupted into a fierce and prolonged civil war. The final battlefield of the war took place on the plains near the border of EternaLand. Though the Alvinaris family fought bravely, they were ultimately defeated. They were exiled to FortisTurris to guard the ArchaWall and protect the southern lands from the barbarians beyond the wall.

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Every day, the young men and women of the Alvinaris family stand guard on the ramparts of FortisTurris, gazing out over the wall that stretches to the horizon. This wall is a symbol of the chains that bind their destiny. They continue to train their descendants in strength and combat arts, hoping that one day they will reclaim the power that was once theirs.

As the sun sets, cold winds blow down from the peaks of the SilverPeak Mountains, spreading a chill across the snowy plains. Amidst the silence and cold, a lone man appears, riding a horse. He wears a dark red cloak that covers his entire body, with a hood over his head to shield against the cold wind. His face is pale from shaving, showing determination despite facing the freezing cold.

The wind from the sky-reaching SilverPeak Mountains blows snow in all directions, with fine snow hitting his face, causing stinging pain. The cold seeps deep through layers of fabric, down to the bone. Every breath he takes is filled with sharp pain and heaviness, yet he continues to ride forward under the darkening sky, heading towards FortisTurris, which appears faintly in the distance, like a fortress defying time.

Upon reaching the entrance of FortisTurris, the constant falling snow swallows everything around in a blanket of white. Two guards at the castle gate, clad in black iron armor covered with thick fur to shield against the cold, stand firm. The fur is dusted with snow resting on their shoulders, and they watch the visitor solemnly.

However, when they see the red-robed monk approaching, they show deep respect, slightly bowing their heads and allowing him to pass into the castle without question or obstruction.

The cold wind still blows as the monk walks into FortisTurris. The distant torchlight barely illuminates the surroundings and cannot drive away the pervasive cold within. The man walks on with determination, as if he were part of the silence and the cold that engulfs this land.

As the red-robed monk passes through the castle gates, silence and cold dominate everything around. A faint whisper starts among the villagers and servants standing nearby. All eyes are on this mysterious monk, filled with suspicion and fear.

"It's him again..." a middle-aged man says in a hoarse, worried voice. He turns to speak softly to an old woman beside him, "I have seen him come here many times, but this time... it feels different..."

The old woman looks up, gazing at the monk walking past them with wary eyes. "I've seen him speak with the lord many times, but I feel that this time is different... Perhaps he brings bad news... or something worse..."

Whispers grow among the villagers as they talk about the red monk. A young woman holding a child in her arms looks at the monk passing by with wide eyes. "He often comes during times of crisis... I've heard he is a messenger of the god Araska..."

The monk continues walking without paying attention to the whispers that fill his ears, but the villagers' eyes follow every step he takes with fear and suspicion. Some people glance around, seeking ways to avoid the monk, while others watch with curiosity but dare not approach.

"What do you think he will tell the lord?" a man asks in a low voice, clear enough for everyone to hear.

The old woman lowers her head before answering, "I do not know, but every time he comes, disaster always follows..."

Everyone falls silent as the old woman's words echo in their ears. The sound of the cold wind blowing and the snow crunching under the monk's feet are the only things moving in this silence and fear.

The red-robed monk continues walking steadily amidst the silence and fear of the villagers who watch him with wary eyes, as if he were a harbinger of disaster, bringing calamity to everyone within these castle walls.