For most of the recruits, this was the first time they laid eyes upon the man whose name had reshaped the fate of the realm—Prince Alpheo, the little fox.
To them, he was legend come to life. The man said to carry the divine spark of the Warrior God in his veins. The man who had never known defeat.
The prince who came from nowhere and changed everything.
They did not know of his past, none except those close to him had such privilege , something that added motion to the belief in his divine blood.
And now he stood there in the flesh, clad in his masterfully wrought black armor etched with the sigils of the crown , a deep purple cloak flowing like a river of dusk behind him. He stood motionless atop the rise overlooking the training field, silent as a statue of obsidian, his presence both a blessing and a trial in itself.
His gaze swept across the field where the last trial unfolded.
The day could not have been more beautiful.
