The clamor of victory faded slowly, leaving a heavy silence. The surviving Awakened turned, breathless, eyes lifting to the figure approaching from behind the battlefield. Their Sovereign, the one for whom they had fought, was finally stepping onto the scene.
Seated proudly on his imposing black steed with twin horns, he commanded the devastated landscape with an unwavering, indomitable presence. His dark skin gleamed under the dying embers of battle flames, making him appear almost surreal—a living shadow amid the ruin. His brown eyes pierced the darkness, watching the creatures quiver with dread at his sight.
His leather armor, sleek and perfectly fitted, seemed like a second skin crafted for speed and precision, moving with him like a seamless extension of his body. Every step of his horse mirrored the fluidity of his own motions, revealing the power coiled within him, each muscle poised, each fiber honed to absolute control.
