After nearly getting executed for seducing the mayor's wife (Kael swore it was her idea), the group fled east into the forbidden highlands. There, in a forgotten valley protected by sheer cliffs and thick mist, they found a paradise.
Wild rivers, fertile soil, ruins of a civilization long buried. Statues with broken eyes, palaces overtaken by roots, stone roads leading to nowhere.
Most saw mystery. Kael saw opportunity.
"This," he declared, standing atop a crumbled archway, "is where we build a kingdom. A real one. With no tyrants. No nobles. No names erased."
Tavo laughed. "You've finally cooked your brain."
"I'm serious."
"You have no army. No money."
"I have charm."
"You smell like goat piss."
Kael grinned. "And yet you follow me."
And they did.
Over the next two years, refugees, misfits, and dreamers arrived. Runaway slaves, disgraced soldiers, wandering poets. Kael welcomed them all. They built with mud, sweat, laughter, and makeshift tools. They taught each other. They argued. They fell in love.
They called the new kingdom Avarin, after a flower that bloomed only after fire.
Kael, ever dramatic, declared himself not a king—but Warden of the Free.