The night was quiet except for the crackling embers in the forge and the occasional shuffle of parchment as Kalem flipped through another page. The dim glow from the forge bathed the room in flickering orange light, casting long shadows on the walls.
The door creaked open, and Garrick stepped in, arms crossed, his expression half-amused.
"Oh, but there was one who did exactly that," he remarked.
Kalem looked up from his book. "What?"
Garrick leaned against a support beam, letting the pause linger. "Yeah, someone combined all disciplines—magic, alchemy, strategy, warfare—and succeeded."
Jhaeros, sharpening one of his throwing knives, flicked his gaze over. "And?"
"Who?" Lyra asked, intrigued.
Garrick's grin widened. "Warrior-Mage-King Bucephalus. Also known as the Lord of Ambition, the Butcher of Kingdoms, the Dreamer, and the Great Unifier."
Kalem sat up straighter. "Bucephalus?"
Nara folded her arms. "That name sounds familiar."
Garrick chuckled. "It should. He didn't just conquer—he built."
He gestured toward Kalem's book. "Surprised that one doesn't mention him more. But then again, history tends to bury the ones who reshaped the world."
Kalem flipped through a few pages, finding only a brief mention of Bucephalus' reign, but nothing detailed. "Tell us, then."
Garrick smirked and took a seat on a crate. "Alright. Buckle in, because this is a hell of a story."
"Bucephalus wasn't born into power," Garrick began. "He was a commoner with no land, no noble blood, just intelligence, skill, and an unbreakable will. He grew up in a world ruled by petty warlords, fragile alliances, and constant war. While others fought for survival, he looked beyond—searching for something greater."
Jhaeros tilted his head. "A human?"
"Yeah," Garrick confirmed. "But he wasn't just a warrior. He studied magic with elves, metallurgy with dwarves, battle tactics from orcs, and alchemy from the most secretive scholars. He mastered everything—not just enough to use, but enough to innovate."
Lyra's eyes widened. "He integrated all of it?"
"Not just integrated," Garrick said, "he perfected it. His armies weren't just soldiers or mages—they were both. Warriors wielding alchemically enhanced weapons, battle formations using magic like a single organism, war machines powered by dwarven craftsmanship."
Kalem murmured, "He built a system that was ahead of his time."
Garrick nodded. "Exactly. One by one, the fractured warlords and city-states fell before him. Unlike other conquerors, he didn't just take land—he transformed it. Roads were built, trade flourished, alchemical and magical advancements exploded under his reign. His empire wasn't just a kingdom—it was a civilization."
Jhaeros sighed. "And the world let this happen?"
Garrick laughed. "Oh, they tried to stop him. Coalitions were formed, entire armies were thrown at him—but they were outmatched. If they used brute force, he used superior strategy. If they used magic, he countered it with enchanted steel and alchemical warfare. He was always ahead."
Nara smirked. "So, what, he ruled forever?"
"No," Garrick said, "because time spares no one."
"Bucephalus ruled for over sixty years. He never lost a battle, never had his throne challenged, never saw a rebellion that lasted longer than a few weeks."
Kalem frowned. "Then what happened?"
"He grew old." Garrick's voice lowered. "For decades, his people watched him reshape the world. But the problem with uniting the world is that eventually, someone has to inherit it."
Lyra nodded slowly. "And there was no clear successor."
Garrick sighed. "Exactly. Bucephalus had trained many generals, scholars, and rulers under his empire, but no single person had his vision, his power, or his authority. So when he grew weaker, the question arose: Who would rule after him?"
Kalem rubbed his temples. "And that's when things turned ugly."
"Infighting," Garrick confirmed. "Not a rebellion—nothing that straightforward. His own council, his heirs, his trusted generals—they started scheming against each other. Each one thought they deserved the throne, and no one trusted the others."
Jhaeros exhaled. "So the world fell apart before he even died?"
"No," Garrick said, shaking his head. "That's the most terrifying part. Even in his old age, even when his body weakened, no one dared challenge him. He was still undefeated. Even in his sixties, he could duel any warrior and win. Even the most powerful mages hesitated to move against him.
"So, instead, they waited. Watching. Preparing. Until one day…"
Nara muttered, "He died."
Garrick nodded. "Of old age. Not in battle, not assassinated—he simply reached the end of his natural life. And when he did? The world collapsed."
"The day he died," Garrick continued, "his empire—the greatest the world had ever seen—shattered."
Kalem looked at the map on the wall of the forge, suddenly realizing why today's world looked the way it did.
"The generals turned on each other," Garrick said. "The noble families who once followed him now fought to carve out their own lands. Cities that had thrived under his rule declared independence. The alliances he built crumbled."
Lyra exhaled. "And that's how we ended up with today's noble houses, city-states, and constant territorial disputes."
Garrick nodded. "Every noble house you see today? Every kingdom, every border dispute—it all traces back to his death. The world didn't return to what it was before him. It became something new."
Kalem let out a breath. "So, the world he spent his life building—"
"—was destroyed the moment he was gone," Garrick finished. "His name was erased from many records, his greatest advancements lost or hidden. The world wanted to forget that one man nearly united everything."
A heavy silence filled the forge. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Jhaeros smirked. "I don't like that look on your face, Kalem."
Kalem closed his book and stretched.
"Well," he said, cracking his neck, "I think it's time we start digging."