Chapter 2: The Lonely Road

Rambling the empty highways of Eldrick, Corvin found no redemption and forgiveness by his enemies. Instead, he withdrew into himself, reaching out to the ancient sword he carried a sword named Amaris. Crafted by master smiths of bygone eras, Amaris glowed with a very otherworldly loveliness. In silence of battle and desolation of wilderness both, Amaris revealed truths to Corvin, assuring him that every scar had its significance, every loss its lesson.

He would spend late nights under starry skies, running his hand over the battered hilt of his blade as if it were the only remnant of a life now gone from him. His brooding gave way to a reflective passion a passion not rooted in arrogance, but need. The blade, with every parry and riposte, grew to be a confidant that did not avoid his broken personality but embraced it entirely. Corvin's own nature cautiously loyal and tenderly angry, silent but ragingly fervent—achieved clarity in the rhythm of his solitary footfalls.

Amidst whispers of the wind over trees bare as skeletons and in the distance echoed the cries of old wars, he discovered something: even out of deep hurt, there was healing.