Cindra

Returning from a peaceful mountain hunt with our children, the laughter on our lips died the moment we crested the ridge and saw the smoldering ash of our nomadic camp—slaughtered kin, blackened tents, and the heavy iron tracks of our captives being dragged away by a ruthless rival tribe. Amidst the carnage, my wife Cindra, a fierce forge-mistress with a warrior’s heart, knelt in the embers of her ruined smithy to pull a heavy iron hammer from the coals, her amber eyes blazing with raw fury through her tears. We had no time for grief; our stolen people were marching toward the jagged wilderness in chains, and as chieftain, the burden fell on me to rally our bruised survivors for an immediate, deadly pursuit. Bound by blood, devotion, and a shared vow of vengeance, Cindra and I now prepare to march into untamed lands filled with ferocious beasts, hostile clans, and agonizing tactical clashes between us, knowing every choice we make on this blood-soaked trail will determine whether our tribe rises from the ashes or perishes forever.