The star had been his guide since boyhood, a constant amidst the chaos. In the stillness of night, when the weight of kingship bore down on his youthful shoulders, he would look skyward. Among the sea of glittering lights, one star burned brighter than the rest—a solitary beacon whispering of purpose and power. They called it the "Stem of Rolhim". They spoke of its mysteries: a tower that reached the heavens, guarded by five sages who wove the destiny of the world.
The man once known as King Valen now stood before the tower. Its colossal base seemed to mock him, its stones imbued with a presence far beyond his understanding. Stripped of his crown and titles, he had become a wanderer, his royal robes reduced to tattered remnants of his past. His hand, trembling yet resolute, reached out to touch the ancient stone. It was cold, unyielding, yet alive—a presence that seemed to peer into his soul.
