The sky was painted in crimson hues, as if Velhara's very land bore the scars of its history. On a hill covered in dry grass, overlooking the desolate village of Korthal, Kael Draykar sat on a rock, adjusting the buckle of his boot while humming a cheerful tune.

At first glance, no one would have guessed that this man, with his unkempt hair and carefree smile, carried a past as dark as the horizon stretching before him. At 32 years old, Kael had the air of a wanderer without worries, but his cold, calculating gaze betrayed the mask of feigned joy. His lean yet hardened frame was the result of years of battle, though the tattered cloak and worn sword he carried did little to reflect the skilled warrior he truly was. No one saw the scars hidden beneath his clothes, and the only one visible—the one running across his face—told a story of suffering few could comprehend.

"How much longer are you going to hide up here?" he muttered to himself, his tone teasing, as if speaking to an old friend. Letting out a sigh, he rose to his feet, dusting off his cloak. From his vantage point, he could see the ruins of Korthal: burning houses, barren fields, and a watchtower with a black flag fluttering in the wind.

Kael stopped humming.

The emblem on that flag—a black dragon devouring a sun—stirred something deep within him, something he had spent years trying to bury. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the smile on his face faded. His once-gentle eyes now burned with a thirst for blood and vengeance, as if all the hatred concealed behind his grin had finally found an escape.

He had no intention of saving anyone. He never did.

But there were things he couldn't ignore, things that bothered him enough to make him act. And right now, the thing that bothered him most was that damned emblem waving above the tower.

"Well then," he murmured, drawing his sword from his belt, the worn steel still as sharp as ever. He ran his thumb along the edge, studying it carefully, as if each mark on the blade held a story. "I suppose a little chaos wouldn't hurt."

As he descended the hill, his smile returned—but this time, it was neither kind nor carefree.

It was the smile of a man who carried a fire within him.

A fire that refused to die.

Kael Draykar was no hero.

He was just a man with scars that still ached.