There is a place where names matter more than laws. Where bloodlines shape nations, and belief can make a god—or unmake one.

Siegmara is such a place.

Once, its towers gleamed with virtue: justice, wisdom, sacrifice. Now, those same virtues are worn like masks by noble houses who have forgotten why they ruled. Each clings to power in the name of order, wielding fear, ritual, or silence as their chosen tools. Beneath their marble halls, the echoes of a war between realms still hum—glyphs etched into bone, soulstones pulsing with memory, and whispers that never truly died.

The land is quiet, but not at peace.

At the kingdom’s edge, something shifts: a child marked by fire and silence; a scholar who speaks to gravity; a rogue whose laughter cuts deeper than any blade. Prophecies unravel. Cloaks are traded for crowns. And in the dark, a name long-forgotten begins to stir.

Siegmara was built on virtue.
But virtue, like truth, does not guarantee salvation.
Only conflict.