I saw a man today—starving beyond belief. His eyes weren't red with color, but with desperation, driven not by malice, but by hunger so deep it scraped at his soul.He spotted another man, one carrying a handful of bread—just enough for two, perhaps meant for his family. The starving man stopped him, begged at first, then demanded.
But the man refused.
Now he lies in the corner, bleeding out, body twitching in the cold dirt—another soul lost not to the war, but to what it breeds.A tragic, heartbreaking sight.
I must press on. If I falter now, there will be more. I must complete my mission… to bring true peace.
My village was tucked away in Halewill, near the ridge of Tattorn—quiet, serene, and peaceful. That was before the war started.
It started on 12 March 1677. We received word the next day, but deep down, we always knew it would come. The gods of the Empire had demanded it—or so they said.
I am a humble blacksmith's son. We were the only smiths in the village, so everyone relied on us. The people were kind. We hosted travelers, adventurers, even the Empire's scouting forces. We were good people.
But when the war began… everything changed.
We were no longer villagers. We were assets—tools to be used.
My father and I made weapons for the soldiers. The fire in our forge, once used to shape ploughs and horseshoes, now birthed blades and spears. Tools of death. We fulfilled every request. We were promised protection. We were promised reward.
But promises mean nothing in war.
A breach in the Empire's defenses let the enemy through.
They came like a storm.
Our village was burned. Our neighbors were slaughtered. My friends, my mother…My father died in the flames, still clutching the iron hammer he had taught me to hold.
Only I survived.
But not in vain.
I set out on 18 November 1677, determined to end this madness. To speak with my king—King Ives Josephus. A man I believe in. A man they call mad.
They whisper behind his back.They call me mad for believing in him.But I know the truth. They lie. They do not understand.
This war—this cruel, endless war—was not his doing.
They say it was waged for annexation. That our Empire lusts for land.But I know better.
My king is not mad.
He will end this war.