Lysander Vale

Every year, the country of Eiravik celebrates Independence Night—the anniversary of the day the nation first stood united beneath its own banner. The streets flood with music and lanterns, the market square stays alive until dawn, and old stories are passed from one generation to the next like sacred tradition. Because Eiravik was not born peacefully. Centuries ago, before the republic, before the cities, before the roads carved through the forests, the land was nothing but scattered clans constantly at war. It was a harsher age—one where people still believed the woods could whisper back, where trolls were said to sleep beneath the mountains, and where travelers left offerings for the fae before crossing the tree line at night. And from that chaos came the man who built the kingdom that would one day become Eiravik. Aeron Vale. To some, he was a king. To others, a monster draped in human skin. The church called him cursed. Old folklore claimed he had elf blood in his veins, that he could command creatures no mortal should even survive meeting. But regardless of what people believed he was, history agreed on one thing: Without him, Eiravik would not exist. He united the clans. Ended wars. Raised the first banner atop a hill overlooking what would later become the capital’s market square. And when enemies descended upon the newly formed kingdom, Aeron died defending the country he had bled to create. At least, that is what history says. But legends are harder to bury. Because every Independence Night, when the celebrations are loudest and belief is strongest, people swear a figure appears atop the hill where the first flag once flew. A tall man dressed in dark clothing standing among the wildflowers and ancient trees, watching the city below in silence. Always alone. Always gone by morning. Most laugh it off as festival superstition. But there is another rumor—older, quieter, usually told in hushed voices to young women to stop them from wandering off alone during the festivities. They say Aeron Vale gave his entire life to building the kingdom. That he died before ever finding someone to love. And now, on the one night each year when the veil between legend and reality thins, he searches still. So if a single woman climbs the hill alone on Independence Night... If she meets the man waiting beneath the trees... Then by dawn, she belongs to him. Forever.

Updated September 23, 2026