The ancient temple stood in ruin, half-buried beneath a sea of ivy and moss. Beneath its crumbling stones, Kaelen Deyarion remained bound in enchanted sleep, sealed by the last fading spell of a desperate age.
A thousand years had passed since he had last drawn breath, yet deep within the core of his being, a single vow held him tethered to the mortal plane.
I will protect her. I will keep my promise.
When the ancient wards began to weaken, a faint shimmer passed through the air. Kaelen's eyes fluttered open, gold irises gleaming with a warrior's determination.
Far away in a modern city, a young woman stirred from restless sleep. Elira Veren, unaware of the forces gathering around her, dreamt of a warrior clad in tarnished armor, his voice calling to her through the void of time.
The Mark of Promise, long dormant, began to awaken on her wrist.
In a world that no longer remembered its own legends, fate was stirring once more.