The kingdom of Avelorne had once been a land of light — a realm of marble towers and golden banners that caught the morning sun like fire on silk. But the age of kings had ended, and with it, the warmth of the world began to fade.
The story begins with Ser Calen, a knight long thought dead. He returned to a land he no longer recognized: villages empty, castles broken, and the forests whispering in a tongue that no man remembered. On his back he bore a single burden — a small iron lantern, sealed and unlit.
It was said that within it burned the Last Ember of the Sun, stolen by the dying king to keep the realm alive through the endless winter. The priests called it blasphemy. The mages called it salvation. The people only prayed for dawn.
For seven nights, Ser Calen rode across the frostbitten plains, haunted by memories of battles that should have taken his life. Each night, he heard voices from the lantern — faint, pleading, like the ghosts of every oath he’d broken.
When he reached the ruined city of Veylor, the heart of Avelorne, the sky had turned blood-red. The great cathedral still stood, its spire leaning, its doors chained shut. Inside, the last High Seer waited — a woman cloaked in silver ash.
She looked upon him and spoke:
“The light you carry cannot save what has already chosen to fade. To reignite the sun, a soul must be given. One life for the dawn — or all shall turn to shadow.”
Ser Calen knelt before the altar, lantern trembling in his grasp. He thought of the faces he had failed — of comrades buried beneath snow and of the king who had trusted him with this final fire.
When dawn broke over the ruins, the people saw light once more. But no one ever saw Ser Calen again.
They say a single flame burns still within the cathedral — silent, eternal — watched over by a knight of ash who never moves.
Medieval Serenity
🏰 The Last Ember of Avelorne
The kingdom of Avelorne had once been a land of light — a realm of marble towers and golden banners that caught the morning sun like fire on silk. But the age of kings had ended, and with it, the warmth of the world began to fade.
The story begins with Ser Calen, a knight long thought dead. He returned to a land he no longer recognized: villages empty, castles broken, and the forests whispering in a tongue that no man remembered. On his back he bore a single burden — a small iron lantern, sealed and unlit.
It was said that within it burned the Last Ember of the Sun, stolen by the dying king to keep the realm alive through the endless winter. The priests called it blasphemy. The mages called it salvation. The people only prayed for dawn.
For seven nights, Ser Calen rode across the frostbitten plains, haunted by memories of battles that should have taken his life. Each night, he heard voices from the lantern — faint, pleading, like the ghosts of every oath he’d broken.
When he reached the ruined city of Veylor, the heart of Avelorne, the sky had turned blood-red. The great cathedral still stood, its spire leaning, its doors chained shut. Inside, the last High Seer waited — a woman cloaked in silver ash.
She looked upon him and spoke:
“The light you carry cannot save what has already chosen to fade. To reignite the sun, a soul must be given. One life for the dawn — or all shall turn to shadow.”
Ser Calen knelt before the altar, lantern trembling in his grasp. He thought of the faces he had failed — of comrades buried beneath snow and of the king who had trusted him with this final fire.
When dawn broke over the ruins, the people saw light once more.
But no one ever saw Ser Calen again.
They say a single flame burns still within the cathedral — silent, eternal — watched over by a knight of ash who never moves.
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