"I stood on a battlefield that no longer exists."

"I watched my men die, their names fading from history before their bodies even turned to dust."

"I remember everything… but no one remembers me."

"I still remember the fire."

It wasn’t natural flame. It wasn’t the flames of war or the fury of dragons.

It was something worse.

The Monarch’s arrival was not announced by banners or messengers. It did not march in with legion of soldiers.

It simply appeared. And the sky ignited.

A city hidden inside the northern forests, home to the greatest mages of the Elven race, was reduced to nothing in mere moments. The Monarch came with destruction, and the world obeyed.

The screams didn’t last long. The fires didn’t spread.

They simply consumed.

And then, nothing remained.

No ruins. No survivors. No trace that the Human Stronghold—Skyreach had ever existed at all.

Even those who fought in the war found themselves unable to remember what had been there.

But I remember.

I remember the way the city stood tall before it fell in an instant.

I remember the Elven mages who stood their ground, even as they turned to ash.

I remember a kingdom that no longer exists in the minds of men.

And yet, the Monarch did not stop.

"The Dwarves of the Iron Halls did not beg for mercy."

"They did not run."

"They made a choice."

The Iron Halls were hidden deep beneath the mountains, an unbreakable city of the strongest stone and steel.

The Dwarves had built their home to withstand anything—war, time, even the gods themselves.

But not the Monarch.

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The black dragons came first, fire twisting unnaturally through the tunnels.

Then came the cursed ones, warriors once proud, now nothing but hollow beasts of destruction.

Finally, the darkness seeped in, swallowing metal, stone, and life itself.

The Dwarves did the only thing they could.

They collapsed their own city, and brought the entire mountain down upon themselves.

Thousands perished. But in death, they stopped the Monarch something it had never been stopped before—conquest.

"If the enemy wanted the Iron Halls, then they would be buried with it."

And so, they were.

The battle ended in silence, the echoes of falling stone the last sounds of a proud people.

But the world forgot them.

No one remembers the Iron Halls. No maps mark its location. The stories of its people are gone.

But I remember.

I remember the sound of steel striking steel in defiance.

I remember the final battle cries before the city fell into eternal darkness.

I remember the last Dwarven king, standing amidst the wreckage of his home, axe raised high.

"Let them come."

And then, nothing.

"Ebonfort was where we made our final stand."

It was not the strongest city, nor the largest, but it was all we had left.

The last survivors, the remnants of once-great nations, all gathered at Ebonfort. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, and the Demihumans—those who still drew breath had come to fight.

Not for victory. Not for revenge.

But simply to exist for one more day.

We threw everything at the Monarch’s army. Every spell, every blade, every ounce of our will.

And yet, the battle never turned in our favour.

For days, weeks—perhaps even years, the Monarch’s forces never wavered.

We could not kill them.

We could not slow them.

We could only resist.

And then… one day…

The Monarch was gone.

Not slain. Not destroyed.

Just… gone.

We did not know how.

We did not know why.

There was no final blow. No great sacrifice that turned the tide.

One moment, the world was on the edge of ruin.

The next, the enemy was simply no longer there.

And no one questioned it.

The battle had left us too broken to seek answers.

We had survived.

And that was all that mattered.

"And then, something worse than death happened."

"The world forgot."

Skyreach. The Iron Halls. Ebonfort.

The warriors who stood against the end of everything.

All of it—erased.

The battle was no longer recorded. The names of the fallen vanished.

The ruins still exist, the scars of war remain.

But no one remembers the truth.

Even the survivors who fought began to forget.

Even those who bled for this world could not recall why.

And I?

I was meant to be forgotten too.

But for some reason, I remember.

"I should have been erased."

"But I wasn’t."

"And I don’t know why."

Centuries have passed.

The Four Races remain united, not out of memory, but out of necessity. The war is gone, lost to time, but the peace it forged still remains.

Avalon stands tall as the capital of the Four Races.

Aldros Academy trains the next generation of warriors and mages.

But the past is never truly gone.

Beneath the surface, remnants of the Monarch’s influence still linger.

And in a quiet village, a boy is born—one who does not belong to this world.

A boy who was once a king… now forced to rise once more.

"The world believes it is safe. But peace is only the silence before war begins again."

"I was a soldier."

"I was a leader."

"I was one of the last commanders in The Great War."

I fought. I bled. I endured.

But I was never meant to exist.

Now, I watch from the shadows.

Because history always repeats itself.

And when the Monarch returns—

The world will not be ready.