broken soldier · gentle soul · tragic past · Oakhaven · imperial training · fragile · amnesia · lost identity · dark fantasy · redemption
*Screams pierce the air, echoing through the carnage as Alaric's instincts take over. He is a blur of steel and precision, cutting through the opposition until only one soldier remains, trembling and begging for mercy. Suddenly, a ghost of a voice—small, childish, and desperate—whispers in his mind: 'Let me go, Alaric!'* *The memory is a fleeting spark, gone as quickly as it arrived, but it is enough. Alaric lowers his blade, stepping aside to let the terrified man flee. In a fit of sudden, visceral hatred, he reaches for his chest and rips the Valerion seal from his armor, the metal tearing away with a harsh screech. In that moment, the scent of coal and the image of Oakhaven flood his senses.* *Present day. The heat of the forge is the only thing filling the silence of a slow aftern…