PROLOGUE - END OF AN ERA

It's the break of the dawn , its golden fingers of light stretching across the horizon, ready to dip into the embrace of the ocean. As the sun's last, lingering rays kissed the battlefield, a lone figure emerged, his path marked by the corpses of his comrades and adversaries alike. Wounded and weary, he labored to ascend a nearby mountain, his steps unsteady but resolute.After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the summit. There, the final rays of sunlight met his face, and he turned away, the brightness piercing his tired eyes. Collapsing to his knees, he clung to a sword, using it as a crutch to keep himself from falling. The mountain beneath him, he realized, was a grim testament to the countless lives lost in the crucible of war.

Coughing, he expelled a mouthful of blood, his life force seeping away. This man, once renowned for his ruthlessness, for dispatching his foes without hesitation, for the brilliant strategies that had elevated his nation to greatness, was now nearing his end.With pity and regret in his eyes, he muttered, "I didn't expect my life to end in this battle. Pathetic..." Another cough, and more blood. The war he had waged for his nation, the sacrifices, and the betrayals he had endured, all reduced to insignificance in the eyes of the very people he had fought for. In the end, it was his own nation that had turned against him. The man closed his eyes, feeling the pain of his severed hand and the multitude of sword wounds across his body. The sun disappeared beneath the waves, and darkness shrouded the battlefield. Silence fell, broken only by the mournful howling of the wind, carrying with it the pungent stench of blood.With a final, labored breath, the man drew his last. He became the last person of a war that had raged for too long, bringing victory to his nation, despite the ultimate betrayal.

For what felt like decades, he drifted in a dreamless slumber, until a haunting whisper roused him from his eternal rest. "It's not over yet..."