Recovered after millennia, hidden in the lining of a forgotten sack, and cited as a primary source in Histories of Hanatal, the diary of Nestef has survived the centuries the way few private records do: copied, translated, and carried forward by hands that understood what they held. It is one soldier's account of what duty costs, written in his own hand for no one but himself.
When General Nestef is summoned to lead an emperor's teenage son into conquest of a continent his people have never mapped, he expects war. He does not expect the forest.
The Sorsún swallows sound, erases its own paths, and watches them with a one-eyed creature that should not be able to find them twice across years and leagues of trackless wood. Nestef has fought in enough wars to know what an enemy looks like. He has never fought a place before.
Beyond the trees waits a war he privately doubts, a siege that will test what he is willing to do in the name of victory, and a crown he never asked to wear. Farther still, across an ocean he cannot cross when it matters, a son grows from boy to man without him and may not forgive the years his father owed to someone else's empire.
This is not a chronicle written for kings, scribes, or the histories that outlive them. It is the record of a man trying to hold together everything duty asks him to carry, one entry at a time, never certain how much of it he will get to keep.