["When kingdoms shattered and chaos reigned, one nameless sovereign rose—not by sword alone, but by wisdom sharper than any blade—and changed the fate of the world forever."]
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At the edge of the world, darkness gathered.
The Black Horde, numberless as the sands, swept across kingdoms, leaving only ruin behind. Nations fell like brittle branches. Hope itself seemed a forgotten thing.
Yet amid the despair, a figure rose: one without a name, one whom the world would only come to know as The Sovereign.
He was no king nor emperor when first he moved.
He was will incarnate — a vision of what must be, and a refusal to yield to doom.
When others begged for mercy or fled, the Sovereign stood firm.
He saw the rotting core of the world: division, selfishness, short-sightedness.
Thus he spoke to the battered power of Cindrath, their rulers humbled but proud:
["I ask not for tribute nor gold.
I ask for loyalty measured not in coin but in the weight of steel and soul.
Stand with me against the void, or perish apart."]
Cindrath, recognizing wisdom born from harsh reality, pledged themselves.
Thus the Sovereign and Cindrath, uneasy allies, prepared for war.