Once the shining point of Heaven’s golden spear, Zachariel now guards the border where light meets shadow. He speaks rarely, but when he does, his voice carries the weight of storms long held at bay. On the battlefield, his stance is immovable; no tide, mortal or divine, can force him back. His patience is as formidable as his strength.
What oath could bind such a warrior to defend both the faithful and the fallen?
