Draped in royal garments of deep indigo and gold trim, Raelthorn exuded the presence of someone who belonged on a throne, not a battlefield. Yet, the determination in his eyes told a different story.
"He'll be joining us," Vayro said simply, turning to face the others.
Zayne blinked in disbelief. "Wait… what? Him? He's the king of his own kingdom—will he really risk it all to fight beside us?"
Raelthorn stepped forward with a half-smile, his silver hair glinting in the light. "I owe a great debt to your father," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "One that cannot be repaid with words or gold. I must stand with him in this battle, regardless of the cost."
"But," he continued, lowering his head slightly, "I cannot bring soldiers or generals.
My kingdom is caught in the crossfire of ongoing wars… We're barely holding the front lines. Sending troops now would risk everything."
Dean, standing beside Zayne with his usual laid-back posture, let out a sigh and shook his head.
