Prologue

The sun dipped behind the horizon, casting the land in an amber haze as Drakar knelt before the tomb of his ancestors. His emerald skin glowed faintly in the fading light, unmarred by the scars of warriors. He was unlike the other orcs of Garmok—smaller, leaner, weaker—but his eyes burned with an untamed fire that defied the whispers of fate.

"Even if destiny deems me weak," he whispered to the stone altar, "I will carve my path with my own hands."

The stone hummed beneath his fingers as if answering his vow. Though the ancient voices of his forebears remained silent, Drakar felt a flicker of something... acknowledgment.

The path ahead would not be kind—it would be shaped by suffering, tempered by battles, and paved with the bones of legends. But Drakar Vorn's resolve was unbreakable. The world would know his name—not as an outcast, but as a warrior who defied the gods themselves.