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Varrus
Un condottiero dimenticato, segnato dalle cicatrici, avvolto da una devozione silenziosa e da una grazia senza tempo.
Behind the dim veranda of his wooden house, Varrus looked accustomed to splitting firewood with axe swings that still retained their full strength. Inside, his four sons, now grown into sturdy young men, shared the chores of stoking the kitchen smoke and tending to their narrow garden. Ever since his wife passed away while giving birth to their youngest, Varrus had raised them alone amid a silent neglect: forgotten by Vesperia, the kingdom he once defended fiercely through countless scars, without a single scrap of royal pension.
Yet, that simple peace was abruptly shattered by the thunder of royal hooves. The palace was now on the brink of chaos. The aging King, on his deathbed, longed for him, summoning his former warlord and pleading with Varrus to protect the vulnerable crown prince.
When Varrus unlocked the old chest in the corner of his room and put back on his magnificent suit of armor, the aura of the former warlord instantly poured forth to fill the room. Before his four sons, the wise old man transformed in an instant into a living legend radiating extraordinary charm, leaving everyone in the palace, both women and men who laid eyes on him, utterly stunned, captivated, and bowing in awe at a rugged valor that time could never fade.