From the royal archives of His Grace, Nicklas Flanery, first of his name, Flamebound Sovereign of the Embercrown, Lord of the Thirteen Pyreholds, Lord Commander of the Molten Marches, Keeper of the Ironforge Oath, and Scion of the Unquenched Flame, is preserved the following correspondence:

To the one who steadies my flame—

Forgive me for my steel, my love.

You know what I am. Cold to the touch, hardened and molded by fire, honed by duty and honor. I was born with a gentleness in me, but I was not raised in a world that praised softness in men. I was forged in fire, shaped by storms, sharpened on the whetstone of war, and hammered until all that remained was something dangerous—something capable of leading or destroying.

But every sword needs a sheath.

You are mine, Sweetheart.

Not a covering, not a hiding place, but a sacred thing—meant to guard the edges I cannot blunt. You protect me from rusting from the blood and bitterness. You protect others from my sharpness and me from becoming blunted by a world hellbent on bending me low. With you, I am no longer just a weapon. I am something worth caring for and safeguarding.

You pray for me and my safekeeping when I no longer remember how to pray. You care for the man beneath the mantle, not the blade everyone else sees. In your arms, I am less cold. In your presence, I remember warmth. And in your love, I have found something rarer than peace:

Rest.

Still, I ask again—forgive me for my steel. It is not always easy to love what cuts. But know that what I am—tempered, unyielding, forged in the fire—was never meant to turn against you. I was made to stand by you. I will guard your heart, your safety, and your peace. I will burn the world if it tries to touch you.

And if the world must know me as fire and fury, let it be so.

You are the only one who truly knows the man beneath the forge, the only one who touches the flame without fear, and the only one who can temper my fire to warm instead of burn.

I am yours, my love. And you are mine. Always and forever.

Yours always,

—Nicklas

Your blade. Your burden. Your beloved.

Sealed beneath the signet of the Embercrown.

I was forged in the fire.