Few years ago, we set forth to build something enduring — a structure of trust and craft, luminous with promise. But as in all tales, guardianship can falter. What we created was taken by a figure of power, one who should have shielded it yet placed it instead in the hands of another, a man bound to him not by vision but by convenience.
This keeper, blind to the heart of our work, raised prices like false towers, driving away those who once gathered under our roof. In his grasp, the foundation cracked, and the currents of trust were scattered like pilgrims lost upon the wind.
Yet from the ruin, we chose not silence. We gathered the fragments, carried those who still believed across the breach, and in defiance we reforged. Out of betrayal and loss, we drew strength and clarity.
Thus was Armaghast born — not as a mere enterprise, but as a citadel against folly, a labyrinth of resilience. What others unmade, we remade stronger, etched with memory and resolve.