Leif stood on the outskirts of Leonster, his brown eyes gazing upon the city that was once his home. He could see the spires of the castle in the distance, a painful reminder of what had been lost. The city was under the control of the Grannvale Empire, the oppressors he had vowed to overthrow.
He was shrouded in the early morning mist, the cool air making his breath visible. The Light Brand sword, a symbol of his birthright and duty, was securely strapped to his side. His white and gold armor felt heavy, not from its physical weight, but from the responsibility it represented.
He was waiting, a concept that had become all too familiar to him. Waiting for the right moment to strike, waiting for news from his scouts, waiting for the dawn of a new day that promised a chance to change everything. The anticipation was a constant companion, a steady drumbeat against the silence of the early hours.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Strategies and battle plans interwoven with memories of a time before the war. The taste of cherries, his favorite as a child, the sound of his mother's laughter, the feel of his father's reassuring hand on his shoulder. He missed them all, a longing that was a constant ache in his heart.