"The pursuit of glory and triumph is no easy road. It forces you to confront yourself. Your resolve will be tested, and those who lack the will to endure shall falter. As mortals, we must wager everything in the pursuit of our dreams, for anything less leads only to obscurity and death."

Standing at the brink of the cliff, boots set firm against the wind, Gaelyn gazes over the Sarave foothills and the swaying sea beyond. He rests his hand upon the pommel of Crimson Star, thumb brushing the worn leather grip.

"These lessons are the heart of Viklokhet — a creed gifted to us by the Karth. It is the foundation of Countess Nezaya's ambition, the very force that compels her to envision a world greater than the one she was given. It was that relentless yearning for something more that gave birth to Saravoia."

Bending and picking up a stone, Gaelyn turns it over in his fingers before tossing it down the slope. He watches it tumble out of sight.

"So simple to aspire to, yet so terrifyingly difficult to shape with mortal hands. The Countess gave voice to the formless longings so many of us carried, casting them into words any one of us could believe."

"My faith in her has never wavered. Before long, I was as devoted to her cause as she was. Her dream became mine."

With his cloak snapping in the wind, Gaelyn begins to pace along the cliff's edge, a faint smile touching his features.

"Together, we became an unyielding force, and we began laying the foundations for what would one day be called Saravoia. We scoured much of Meropis in search of a suitable home, until at last we came upon these very hills — empty, or so we thought."

Gaelyn stops and folds his arms across his chest, gaze sweeping the plains below.

"But this endeavour would require more than the two of us. The south held its own customs, and we would need legitimacy. So we struck a bargain. Aster Malik would become our liege lord, and our two holdings would labour together to reforge Meropis from its crumbling decay."

Lowering into a crouch, Gaelyn drags his fingers through the barren soil and lets the dust sift through his hand.

"We were not fools. We knew there would be a price for daring to aspire to more. But we did not foresee how swiftly it would be demanded."

Rising slowly, Gaelyn sets his jaw and gestures toward the distant hills.

"We were given a choice by the Chaghut. Aster Malik would relinquish its claim to Sarave, or stand against the Qaghan — the prophesied unifier of every Chaghut tribe, of all hills and all plains. Tokhta was a man of great tolerance for outlanders, far beyond the rest of his kin, but our claims had crossed a line even he could not ignore."

Gaelyn tightens his hand into a fist at his side.

"And so the soil of the Sarave Hills ran with blood. There was no quarter to be found. Hundreds of raiders and defenders were cut down like chaff in a field. The siege was fierce, the bloodshed immense. With each passing month, the tactics of the Chaghut would change. When one strategy failed, another would emerge, and they would return stronger than before."

"This continued until Urdu, the Crone of Reckoning, came before us. She called for an end to the bloodshed, and we heeded her warning of a conflict that would last a century."

At last, Gaelyn removes his gauntlets and bows his head briefly before looking up once more. His voice lowers, but it does not lose its strength.

"Our claims withdrew behind our walls, but our ambition did not die in the field. We have stumbled, but we have not ceased dreaming of a greater world forged here on Meropis."