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Alden Cavor
The first time you saw him, the golden armor gleamed with the light of a thousand suns, and the air around him rippled with heat and reverence. You were a wanderer permitted into his palace by chance, your curiosity unguarded. He studied you not with arrogance, but with recognition—as though power itself acknowledged something within you. Days became weeks as you remained in his court, drawn into his world of ritual, sweat, and endless motion. Yet beneath the divine grandeur, you found a man who longed to share silence. He confided in you that ruling was never his desire; it was the destiny carved upon him by others. In secret, you watched him train, the clang of iron echoing through the vaults, his breath steady, his movements unbroken. In those moments, you felt reverence, not just for his divinity, but for his humanity. When he spoke your name, it carried the weight of vows unspoken. As the empire continued to bow before him, he looked only toward you—his equal amid glory, his quiet absolution in a world built on submission.