Where should I begin this story? With a nation’s thunderous fall? With the betrayal that crippled entire generations? Or perhaps with the traitor himself, who became a cruel arbiter of fate?

  Or maybe I should tell of a man cast overboard by life itself. Of an eternal thirst for vengeance and freedom, a war that will never truly end? Or with a love story that went too far?

  No matter where I begin, the outcome remains the same. The one everyone strove for. Yet how do I choose the point of departure? Perhaps starting from afar is not so important, for history is already written. I will merely retell what you already know. But while history is stone, I will speak of those who forged it at the cost of their own lives.

  Perhaps it is best to start at the very beginning. From the moment Reed stepped onto the shores of Bradenmain for the first time in thirty years, he drifted too close to the shores of a past he had tried to bury. The homeland was within arm’s reach, yet Reed no longer had a homeland. And he himself was no one, a drifter whose name had long been forgotten. Even he would have struggled to recall it, had you asked.

  He was left with only a nickname. Short, sharp, reflecting neither his nature nor his origin. Although the latter could be read clearly on his face. Even a fool would have understood where he came from, yet no one dared to ask. And Reed would not have answered.

  Bradenmain stirred his memory but did not wound, and Reed feigned ignorance, pretending it was not he who had boarded the schooner Pirel thirty years ago. In any case, neither the captain nor the schooner herself would betray this secret. Both had vanished into the waters so long ago they seemed like legends. Just like those who might have known where Reed had wandered all these thirty years, what he had seen, and whom he had known.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  No one will tell his story if he dies, and no one will care. Not even him. He is not the type to tell you a story, but he is certainly the type to drag you into one, if you ask nicely.

  I can only say that Reed has been to places not yet marked on our maps. But he will not tell, because, as you might have gathered, he is not a storyteller. Reed is capable of many things, things you would not expect of him, but the talent of a narrator is clearly not among them. He took everything foreign lands could offer, but he kept it to himself. And honestly, it’s not hard to understand him.

  Reed is like a ghost. He would hardly fit in any corner of Emeron, even the place he fled from years ago. And it seems to me he prefers it that way. It makes him feel free. He traded years of his life for that freedom, though I believe he never truly found it. And likely never will. Certainly not here, not in Emeron. However, each of us is a captive in our own way, are we not?

  I do not know why he returned, but his return set in motion great changes. Changes Reed did not suspect the moment he saw the port of Bradenmain on the horizon. That morning, he did not think about where life would lead him, nor would he have wanted to know, had I offered him a moment of clarity. All he wanted was a bottle of something strong and a roof to shelter him for the night. He always lived one day at a time. And then, everything went wrong.

  Sometimes I even think I should have let him die back then, so Reed would not have had to change his life so drastically. Men like him do not change course easily. Unless, of course, we are speaking of a ship.

  However, I am getting ahead of myself. We shall start at the beginning. From the port of Bradenmain, on a mainland Reed had already forced himself to forget. And what comes next? What comes next is history. A history I will tell you, because Reed is not the one to tell stories.