Long before Aran stood at the edge of the world with a sword in his hand and a promise in his eyes, there was only silence.
Not the silence of peace — but of waiting.
The world had not yet burned, nor healed. The skies held no memory of stars. The fire had not been stolen, nor sworn. And love… love had not yet been chosen.
But deep within the heart of all things, a single ember stirred.
It did not speak. It did not shine.
It remembered.
It remembered a name that had not yet been spoken.
A vow that had not yet been broken.
And a war that would be born not from hatred —
but from hope.
In the days to come, that ember would become a flame.
That flame would become a boy.
And that boy would become a man — forged in exile, bound by fate, and marked by a love that time could neither silence nor spare.
His enemies would call him cursed.
His allies would call him chosen.
But the woman who mattered most would look into his eyes — and see not a weapon.
She would see a promise.
And that, above all else, would change the world.