A land of frost and dusk stretched to the edge of the world, where the sky hung low and the ground never thawed. In the center of that dead horizon stood a figure cloaked in layered robes of bone-threaded silk, a tall staff planted firmly into the glacier beneath his feet.
He stood alone.
But he did not feel lonely.
His name was Valec.
Not a king. Not a conqueror. A scholar.
He had taken the Necromantic Core not for glory, nor for vengeance, but for knowledge. The understanding of endings. The study of transition. He had wandered tombs unmarked by time, spoken with beings too ancient to remember their names, and wept beside dying stars.
His desire was not domination, but clarity and understanding.
Damien felt Valec's trial through the Core.
He had not fought it.
He had understood it.
