Chapter 20 - The Legend of the Sword
Ten years passed.
The High Realm entered a golden age of peace and prosperity unprecedented in its history. Trade routes flourished from the frozen Northern mountains to the southern seas. The great arena in the capital—once a place of bloody slaughter and fear—was transformed into a grand marketplace and festival ground where athletes from all five kingdoms competed in peaceful games.
High on a grassy hill overlooking the city of Solas stood a modest wooden estate surrounded by blooming white roses.
A young boy, no older than seven, was running through the garden with a wooden training sword, laughing as he chased a grey hound. He had dark, sharp eyes and a light, cheerful smile.
Leo sat on the porch bench, wearing simple linen clothes, sipping warm tea beside Lyra, who was now the Commander of the Royal Realm Guard.
"He swings that wooden stick just like you used to swing that iron shank," Lyra chuckled, resting her chin on her hand.
"He has a better instructor than I had," Leo smiled, watching his son land a clean wooden strike against a hay dummy.
In the center of the estate’s main hall, resting upon a pedestal of white oak, sat Sunfall. The legendary blade no longer blazed with violent battle energy; instead, it emitted a calm, soft golden light that warmed the entire home like a hearth fire.
The story of the poor boy in torn clothes who walked into the arena with a sword-shaped scar on his shoulder became a legend told by bards in every tavern across the continent.
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It was not a story about a prince who reclaimed his gold crown, but a story about a boy who proved that true royalty is not born in marble palaces—it is forged in the heart of those who fight for the helpless, stand against tyranny, and govern with unwavering mercy.
And as the evening sun set over the peaceful kingdom of Solas, casting long golden light across the mountains and valleys, the mark of the sword remained—not as a symbol of war, but as an eternal promise of peace.
