Mortal world, State of Herion.
The wind howled gently atop Herios Mountain, carrying with it the breath of ancient time.
Wisps of cloud clung to its jagged cliffs like ghostly fingers, forever swirling around its peak.
Each step up the sacred stairs felt like a journey between the world of men and the cradle of gods.
Lord Calion of Herion, descendant and named after General Kaerion, now in his twilight years, ascended the final flight.
His hands, weathered by the weight of both sword and scepter, grasped the smooth marble rail.
His white cloak, trimmed with gold thread, billowed in the mountain winds like a banner of the old world.
Behind him, no guards followed.
After all, although the Temple of Herion was not off limits and can be visted by anyone, what lies ahead is something not just anyone is qualified to traverse.
Beyond where the temple was located, is said to be where the tomb of Herios is located, and is guarded by elite warriors.
