"Uwaaa! Uwaaa!"
A newborn baby was born in the household of Fontaine, his cry echoing through the bright halls like a fragile herald of destiny.
The matriarch of Fontaine leaned close, her arms trembling as she gathered the newborn against her chest.
Tears welled in her eyes, not of sorrow but of wonder, as the child's cry filled the chamber. In that fragile sound, she heard both the weight of legacy and the promise of renewal.
Her sister stood beside their mother, her gaze soft and steady. She reached out with careful hands, brushing the baby's cheek as though touching a miracle.
Pride and tenderness lit her eyes, the quiet strength of a sister already sensing the duty of care.
The chamber doors opened, and the patriarch stepped inside, his presence commanding yet softened by the sight before him.
At his side came the boy's elder brother, his face bright with joy.
Together they moved slowly toward the cradle, each step heavy with anticipation.
The patriarch's voice was warm as he leaned closer, his eyes fixed on the child.
"Tell me," he asked gently, "what is his name?"
The answer carried through the hall like a blessing, a name that would one day echo far beyond the walls of Fontaine—Leon Valentine de Fontaine.
The patriarch's solemn look gave way to a smile, and soon the warmth spread across the room.
His sister, brother, and even the household attendants shared in that joy, their faces glowing with hope.
For a brief moment, the family stood united, their smiles reflecting the promise of the child who had just entered their world.
* * *
Five years have passed.
I am Leon Valentine de Fontaine.
Thirdborn child of my mother, Lilith Valentine de Fontaine, and my father, Clausius Valentine de Fontaine—the patriarch of our house.
The world I was born into was unknown to me.
In the kingdom of Cyralis, wars had scarred the land long before my birth.
My father told me stories of blood and steel, of banners raised and banners torn down.
The ruins of those battles still whisper in the wind.
His words carried the weight of generations, heavy with grief and defiance.
Though I was born into peace, the ground beneath me remembered blood.
Cyralis was not a quiet kingdom—it was a kingdom of fallen souls.
My father also had me studied the history of our continent.
There are three kingdoms in this continent.
First, in the southwest, lies the kingdom of humans, Cyralis.
To the north stands the kingdom of elves, Faeloria.
In the southeast rises the kingdom of beastfolk, Havokh.
At the very center once stood a fourth realm, once has fallen into ruin—the dwarven kingdom of Klamund.
Klamund was reborn.
From its broken stones rose a new purpose—the central market of the continent.