
by Dremly
Alexander Igan has never seen the world beyond his mountain. At eleven years old, he knows the price of silk thread, the weight of a dishonest merchant's sack, and that exactly three hundred kilometers stand between him and the capital he has never seen. He is lazy by reputation, sharp by nature, and utterly convinced that the mountain his clan calls home is nothing more than a beautiful prison. So one night, while his family sleeps, he takes his mother's horse and leaves. He does not know that something is already on its way to find them. He does not know what it will leave behind. The Igan clan has no noble bloodline, no mana stones, no ancient texts. What they have is silence — and a name they have not spoken in a very long time. Some names, once spoken, cannot be unspoken. From this quiet mountain. From this unremarkable boy. Will rise something the world has no word for yet. Kingdoms will not fall to his armies.They will fall to his name alone. He will not climb to the heavens.He will carve his way there —through everything that stands between him and the sky. The child was weaned in silence.The man will be remembered in ruin.
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