In the small village of Keen, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a soft glow on the wooden gate that led into the camp. Two soldiers, clad in dark grey chainmail, stood at attention, their eyes scanning the surroundings. They were there more as a formality, for they didn't impede the comings and goings of those passing through the gate.
Limon Darwin, a figure that would soon draw the attention of many, was making his way towards the camp. His black plate armor, polished to a sheen, seemed to absorb the early morning light and reflect it in a way that was both menacing and alluring. With each step he took, the metal plates clinked softly, a sound that was barely audible above the ambient noise of the camp but was enough to announce his presence.
