The Awakening of Ashblade

The night had passed with an eerie stillness, broken only by the flickering of torches along the castle's high stone walls. Leon had not slept. His mind was clouded, tangled in thoughts of the dungeon, the illusion, and the dream of his family that he was forced to relive. He could still feel the sharp pangs of loss, the unrelenting weight of his failure to protect them. Yet, the dream had felt too real. It had pulled at him in ways that reality never could.

He sat by the window in his quarters, staring out at the distant horizon where the first light of dawn began to creep over the mountains. His fingers drummed against the cold stone, restless, as though even the land around him felt the tremors of his unresolved fury. The weight of the crown, the responsibilities, the impending doom—it all pressed down upon him, each piece of his life a reminder of the man he once was and the warrior he was becoming.