The world was silent.

Once, three kingdoms had thrived, their banners rippling under skies of hope, their streets alive with magic and ambition. Now, the land was a wasteland of ash and ruin. The air hung heavy with the stench of death; rivers bled red; the charred remains of civilizations crumbled into dust.

"The earth remembers what the living forget,

A kingdom's glory, a crown's regret."

At the heart of this devastation, three figures stood, broken remnants of the men they once were.

Kaelus, the Liar, clutched the remains of his golden crown. Its brilliance was tarnished, dulled like the promises he had whispered into eager ears. His sharp tongue, once so quick to bend truth into power, now muttered empty apologies to the wind. Around him lay the bodies of his people, their faith betrayed, their loyalty rewarded with ruin.

Orus, the Blind, knelt by the shattered remnants of his throne. His unseeing eyes stared into the haze, but the visions in his mind were clearer than ever—betrayal, despair, and the slow collapse of the faith he had clung to. His sword lay broken at his feet, as useless as the trust he had placed in his brothers.

Dagon, the Silencer, stood atop a hill of corpses, his armor cracked and stained with blood. His sword hung loosely at his side, its edge dulled by countless lives taken. Around him, the air was deafening in its quiet. No birds sang, no wind whispered, as if the land itself had fallen mute under the weight of his deeds.

At their feet lay Seraphyne, the woman who had united and divided them. Her body, lifeless and pale, seemed smaller in death. The once-brilliant light in her eyes was gone, and no one reached to cradle her.

The three men met each other's gaze, their silence heavy with unspoken words—blame, regret, and the unbearable weight of their shared destruction.

Above them, the sun began to set, its light dimmed by the smoke-filled skies. A raven cawed harshly from the ruins and took flight, its shadow passing over them as it vanished into the horizon.

"The crown is ash, the king is dust,

All power fades, as all kings must."

One by one, the men turned away.

Kaelus dropped the tarnished crown, its hollow clatter swallowed by the emptiness around him.

Orus stumbled into the haze, his broken sword dragging behind him.

Dagon descended the hill of death, his figure disappearing into the gathering darkness.

The kingdoms were gone. Their people were gone. All that remained was the silence of the land, scarred and broken, where no voice dared rise again.

And at the center of it all, the rock from which they had been born stood cracked and blackened, a monument to their rise and their ruin.