After Alaric disappeared from the slums, he sat atop a bell tower—one so high it overlooked the entire Velmora Kingdom. The winds were soft at that altitude, and the vastness of the land stretched endlessly beneath him.
His expression was peaceful.
He hadn't taken on that persona out of some noble, world-saving vision. No—his reasons had been selfish. It was all a calculated move to solidify his claim to the Velmoran throne through Auralyne 's legacy, a political maneuver to silence dissent before it could rise.
But now…
Now that he had helped them—truly helped them—and had seen smiles bloom across faces weathered by despair, something in him had shifted.
He felt happy. Genuinely happy.
And with that warmth came the sharp sting of shame. He realized how shallow his intentions had been, how blind to the weight of the people's pain he had been until that moment.
Then his thoughts drifted to her—the one who had brought him here.
The Goddess Elyssera.
