I walked out, leaving the narrow stone path behind—leaving him behind.
That man… there was something unnerving about him. Not just in his presence, but in what he represented. Someone who had lived for epochs yet bounded by strange oaths. There was no doubt about his strength... He was strong.
Yet he was bound, shackled by something. He was someone whose strength terrorized people soo much so that they made him... chain himself up.
One thing had become painfully clear from my interaction with him: history—at least the one we knew—was flawed. Incomplete. Or worse… deliberately altered.
Someone had tampered with it.
Erased truths. Buried people. Killed names.
But then again… those guys—Evelyn, Freya, Zyon, Art—they seemed to know. Not everything, but something. Pieces, at least. Maybe hints passed down through their bloodlines and ancestral tales. Something only they knew to look for.
