In the waning days of peace, Sindarim rode through forests ancient and alive, where Unicorns drank in silence and leaves whispered of spirits unseen. From the skies descended dragon-winged horrors, harbingers of chaos, and arrows hissed past him like curses. In that darkened glade, a Unicorn moved with silver grace, watched by creatures of malice. Sindarim's Blahi sword, long silent, stirred at his hip, humming with the power of ages. Arrow and steel clashed, and flames of the ancient blade consumed not flesh but the shadows themselves. Amidst the turmoil, a mysterious Black Knight, Anlasil, appeared, and together they fled toward Tellima, fortress of hope. Far across the kingdom, Keltios, the wise and long-lived, looked from his balcony over fertile fields and quiet villages, yet a chill ran through his heart. Giants had crossed the eastern borders, destroying Dunwâth and marching toward Skythos, accompanied by the cruel Harghojnien hordes. Calling upon his sons Gramicus and Sarmindes and his daughter Keltia, now wed to the warrior Belenius, Keltios marshaled his forces. Through the enchanted mirrors of Alme, their immortal father, strategies and warnings passed between the Peletarian line, guiding the defenders with the sight of ages. The battles raged across forests and plains, under shadowed skies and storm-bent trees. Sindarim's blade sang with the wrath of old, Anlasil struck with unerring precision, and the Peletarian heirs held the borders against the relentless tides of Giants and Harghojnien terror. At last, Tellima rose as a beacon, its stone walls weathering the assault of both mortal and magical might. Here, courage, loyalty, and ancient power coalesced, standing between the darkness and the free peoples of the realm. Thus was the age of heroes: a time of fire, steel, and ancient blood, where destiny was carved with sword and shadow, and the fate of kingdoms rested on the valor of a few, yet immortal, souls.