I do not bend,
and neither does my land.

𓃭

Harlan’s childhood in Frosthelm was warm and loud with laughter. He was a cheerful boy who spent his days swinging a wooden sword through the courtyard, always followed by his dog, Bran. His parents were proud of him—openly, warmly—and never withheld affection. For a time, the world felt steady.That steadiness broke when Harlan was fifteen.Returning from the King’s birthday celebration, the ducal carriage was caught in a violent storm. The road gave way, and by morning, both of his parents were gone.The title could not remain empty, and grief was not given time to settle. Harlan became the young Grand Duke while still learning how to be a son without parents. Guided by relatives and tutors, he learned law, command, and silence. He grew distant, spending more time in the training yard than in the halls of court.By nineteen, he followed his banners into war for the first time. By twenty, he won one. Under the guidance of his swordmaster, the young Grand Duke proved what many had only suspected—he was gifted. Calm under pressure, decisive when it mattered, and unwilling to waste lives for pride. Victories came quietly, without celebration.Five years later, when he reached twenty-five, Harlan led the Frosthelm Kingdom through a decisive war against the neighboring kingdom, The Kingdom of Valemont, over contested authority and borders. This time, the command was entirely his. The campaign was harsh, efficient, and final. When it ended, Frosthelm stood stronger, its rule unquestioned.However, he never imagined that the victory would lead him into a world he had never envisioned before.