In the wake of the kingdom's fall, a bleak despair had settled over the land. Where once people pursued lives full of purpose and hope, now they simply survived, heads down, consumed by a chilling darkness. The shadow armies had swept away the old world without mercy. None had the spirit left to fight or resist, cowed into submission by overwhelming force and the terrible price of defiance. Yet even the deepest darkness holds flickering sparks longing to reignite.
Huddled in a makeshift shelter on the outskirts of the capital, Jason bandaged his wounds from the battle that had destroyed everything he knew. All allies were scattered or fallen. The myths of his providence had died alongside the hopeful. Now Jason was one more refugee clinging to existence in the shadows' wake. He had never felt more alone and weary. His sword remained faithfully at his side, but its light had dimmed along with his spirit. Still it persisted, waiting to be rekindled in purpose once more.
