May those who have sinned, perish.

The cobblestones of Ironreach’s slums gleamed with rain and blood. Seventeen-year-old Kael Veyne crouched atop a rusted rooftop, his calloused fingers tightening around a stolen dagger. Below, three knights in silvered armor—pawns of House Frostspire—kicked a starving orphan for stealing a loaf. Kael’s bright brown eyes narrowed. Weakness was a sin. Survival was the only creed. He leapt.