Year 900 of the Imperial Calendar.
The Empire of Albion ruled through steel and sorcery, a kingdom draped in gold, yet rotting beneath its crown. Four great Duke houses divided the continent, each ruling their territory like kings. Behind their silk robes and holy texts, they bled the land dry.
In the shadows of that empire, a nameless boy was born. He had no noble crest, no magic, only a quiet family trying to survive. Until the empire took them.
They called it justice.
He called it the beginning.
Lucien Vale rose from the dirt with nothing but hatred in his veins. He trained, he bled, and carved his name into history. By the end, even the nobles feared him. Armies obeyed him. His blade reached the very gates of the throne, and just when his revenge was within reach they stabbed him in the back.
He died alone. Betrayed. Forgotten.
But death was not the end. A curse he had sealed inside himself ancient, forbidden magic answered his final breath. And in the moment his heart stopped beating, time shattered. Scene Shift back to the past Lucien gasped for air. It wasn't the dry, blood-choked air of a battlefield, but something warm and fresh filled with life. His lungs felt light, and when he looked down, his hands were small and untouched by war.
"Lucien!" a woman's voice called from outside the room, and he froze. That voice… it had been twenty years since he last heard it.
It was his mother.
He remembered the day she died how her blood had soaked into his arms, her breath fading as the empire crushed everything they loved. But now, she was alive. Calling his name. Waiting for him. He stumbled toward the window. Morning light poured in, brushing over rolling fields and swaying wheat. The wind smelled like warmth and bread.
He was seven years old again. One year before everything was taken from him.
Lucien Vale stared up at the sky, his voice low with fire and memory.
"This time… I'll burn you first."