Synopsis: The Iron Rebellion: Rise of the Sovereign

War. Betrayal. Power. And the will of one man to seize it all.

Kael Ashmark was born without a name—an orphan of war, raised among the ashes of empire. In the dying highlands of Gravenmarsh, where peasants rot under noble boots and kings rule from crumbling thrones, Kael becomes more than a fugitive. He becomes a symbol. A sword in the dark. A fire the Empire failed to smother.

When imperial forces massacre the last free villages of the North, Kael strikes back—not with banners, but with blood. From raiding caravans to breaking strongholds, he forges the Iron Host: an army of rebels, outcasts, and oathbreakers united by rage and resolve. But rebellion is not enough.

To shatter the High Crown, Kael must outfight Vellgaard’s armored legions, outmaneuver merchant-lords, and outwit the zealots of the Flame Church. As noble daughters become allies, assassins become lovers, and gods are mocked at swordpoint, Kael walks the line between warlord and king.

His enemies call him heretic. His followers call him Sovereign.

In a world without prophecy, Kael does not rise by destiny—he rises by conquest.

Imperial Citadel of Velvrahn, 6 years before the rebellion


The chamber reeked of melted wax and damp parchment. Seven lords sat beneath the lion banners of Vellgaard, their golden armor polished, their hands clenched in silence.


Lord Marshal Daegarn pressed a trembling hand against the scroll before him, the wax seal cracked and the ink smeared—written in peasant hand, but the message unmistakable.


"He walks again. Ashmark burns in his veins. And we remember the names you buried."


Across the table, the old bishop of the Flame Church scoffed. "A rebel's whisper. Nothing more."


"No," Daegarn said. "Not a whisper. A fire."


The High Chamberlain adjusted his robes. "And what would you have us do? Send the Ironclads into every gully and ditch in the north?"


"They're already doing it," said a younger noble—Ser Rhost. "And dying for it. Three patrols gone. Burned wagons. Officers hanged upside down with their tongues torn out. Always the same mark left behind—"


He tossed a torn banner onto the table. Black cloth, scorched at the edges. A broken blade sewn crudely into its center, wrapped in red strips.


The bishop leaned closer. "Who leads them?"


Daegarn answered slowly. "They say… his name is Kael."


The bishop squinted. "The boy from Ashmark?"


Then Daegarn leaned forward, his voice barely more than breath. "They call him Sovereign of the Mire."


The bishop's face darkened. "Blasphemy."


Outside, the bells of Velvrahn tolled across the frostbound city. But inside the chamber, the air had turned cold—not from winter, but from the shadow of a name that should've died with the ruin it was born in.


Chapter 2 - INTERLUDE: The Whisper and The Wound