His hand would come out of his heart to write. That’s how the Scribe was described by those who had met him.

Anyone who traveled in the company of dark hearts and eager blades but still kept ahold of their empathy was special. The details wouldn’t come until later about how the Scribe trekked across the Temari plains or his worn account of joining Arkus as he built a bloody legend.

But the Scribe was a man who wasn’t known by many beyond the ink he laid to the page. Carefully guarded scrolls of velum were kept in churches and treasuries. Nightly tales were recited by soot-covered hearths as lowly bards sought inspiration from the man without a name— only a title.

A later account of the rise of the Ashbourne legion held similarities with the style of Arkus’ account, but it couldn’t be verified if the Scribe had penned it. Those who knew of both the Scribe and Arlena, the queen who commanded the Ashbourne legion, were rare in quantity.