Alexander Wyrd stood in a place that did not feel like a place at all. There was no wind, no sky, no ground he could properly see.
It felt as though he were standing in the space between moments, where sound and light had both grown distant.
He could not remember how he arrived there. He could not remember why he was alone. Then a voice reached him.
"No matter what happens, I believe in the future you will bring."
It was gentle and filled with warmth. He did not recognize it, yet it stirred something deep in his chest, as if he had once leaned on that voice without realizing it.
Before he could turn toward it, another voice followed.
"There's nothing left for me but my sword, my pride, and my name. Please... Alex... Let me die as I am. Let me die in the way I choose."
This one carried weight. It was not pleading for life. It was asking for dignity. Beneath the resignation, there was pride that refused to bend.
