Clad in armour from head to toe, ninety-nine paladins stood in unshaken formation. The dull golden sheen of their heavy plate reflected like muted sunlight in Asher's eyes as he looked down upon them from the high throne on the dais of the Sacred Hall.
Before them stood Nero, the only one in black armour, an obsidian contrast to the others. Yet like his brothers-in-arms, a white cloak—symbol of their vow and purity—flowed from his shoulders. White fur lined the upper backs and collars of every cloak, lending a regal air, making these warriors seem less like mere soldiers and more like noble champions of a forgotten age.
To Asher, they were more than that.
They were his blood.
Born of the sacred line, each paladin carried a spark of his essence—a bond deeper than oaths or banners.
