Kael was a young shepherd who spent his days in the high pastures, often leaning his back against the Protector’s massive stone boot. He didn’t believe the old stories—that the statue was a living titan turned to stone, waiting for the world’s end to wake. To him, it was just rock, weathered by wind and moss.
The village of Aethelgard sat in the palm of a jagged mountain range, a tiny spark of life in a world of ice. For generations, the villagers had lived in the shadow of the , a colossal statue of a knight carved directly into the highest peak . Its stone sword was leveled at the horizon, and its blank eyes stared eternally toward the Northern Wastes. The Great Protector
Kael looked up from the pasture. The Great Protector was no longer on its pedestal. It stood three miles North, knee-deep in a frozen lake, its sword now pointed toward a different horizon. Its pose was different—more alert, more weary. Kael was a young shepherd who spent his
That changed on the night the sky turned the color of a bruised plum. The village of Aethelgard sat in the palm