Lysander looked back at the map. In this new world, the old rules had changed. Heroes no longer sat safely behind their armies; they stood on the front lines, swords swinging alongside their crusaders, feeling every blow and every victory. This surge of energy felt like a second chance—a way for every soul in the kingdom to rise.
"My Lord," a squire whispered, rushing into the room. "The Gold Mines... they are overflowing. Not with ore, but with a strange, crystalline energy. The scouts say it feels like a gift from the Ancients."
The flickering torches of the Great Library cast long, dancing shadows over Lysander’s map. The world of Enroth was a memory, swallowed by the Reckoning, and the new land of Axeoth felt vast, untamed, and silent. He wasn't just a knight anymore; he was a relic of a lost age trying to build a future from the ashes.
