Angol
In the blood-stained year of 1572, when the kingdom of France groaned beneath the iron will of King Charles IX, darkness took root like rot in the bones of the land. His throne, carved in cruelty, reeked of old blood, and his heart beat not for God nor justice, but for power alone. The True Flame of faith-long hunted, long silenced-was forbidden to flicker again. None but the king was to be worshipped. None but his will was law.
Yet far beyond the reach of his banners, nestled deep within the Southern mountains, dwelt a hidden folk-men and women bound by oath to the Old Light, whisperers of forbidden prayer. They moved like phantoms through the mists, cloaked in secrecy, their hearts steadfast against the crown's tyranny.
Among them rose champions-warriors and wise folk, tempered in shadow and flame-who would not bow. When steel clashed and fire fell from the heavens, their path led them to the gates of the beast itself: Paris, the heart of the tyrant's kingdom, now a butcher's den, steeped in ash and screams. But when all hope was dire... a flare ignited in the soul of one man-a light fierce and unyielding. Yet, in that very moment, something ancient stirred... a shadow cloaked in trust.
