Echoes of the Golden Fields PT2 of PT2

11/20/25
PT2 of PT2
 Echoes of the Golden Fields
Elias—no, Thorne—emerged from that rebirth a fractured mosaic. The farmer's son lingered in his dreams: the scent of sun-warmed earth, the echo of Lira's tales, the ghost of Mira's touch. He wandered the courts of Eldrathor as an outsider, his scars from mortal wounds a map of what was forsaken. Yet in Isolde's gaze, he found purpose—a knight's oath forged not in fealty, but in the quiet fury of survival. He trained under the moon's merciless eye, his body adapting to nocturnal prowess, his heart hardening like quenched steel.
Centuries later, in the mirror shards of the Sunken Crypts, those echoes resurfaced: a boy laughing in golden fields, arms outstretched to a sun that no longer called him son. Thorne's mortal backstory was no mere prelude; it was the forge that tempered him. From the soil of Dawnspire sprang a loyalty fiercer than any vampiric bond, a hunger not for blood, but for the redemption of stolen light. And in Queen Isolde's shadowed embrace, he learned that even the undying could mourn the dawn—whispering its name like a prayer in the endless night.