Marshall of the Golden Sky Fortress

Agamenon waited until the Sacred Flame could consume no more of his blood before using magic to seal the gaping wounds along his forearm. His face was deathly pale, and the energy in his body seemed nearly exhausted. Still, he managed to bow deeply to the flame for an entire minute before stepping away from the ancient altar. Only when he left the circle of golden runes beneath his feet did his strength falter, his body sagging with fatigue.

Zalasar reacted at once, moving forward to lend the young man support. "Well done, Lord Agamenon," he said in a voice brimming with approval. "Your sacrifice will keep the flame stable for at least fifty years. You've brought great honor to both the empire and your family."

Agamenon forced a weary smile in response, though his breathing remained labored. It was clear that notions of honor and duty were dear to him, and receiving Zalasar's praise seemed to bolster his spirit despite the profound blood loss.