Sigismar & Wingspan

As a child, he already clenched his fists, his jaw tense. He could see the adults casting sidelong glances at him, preventing his friends from coming over, citing flimsy excuses. "He can't today. Maybe another day?" But that other day never came. Regardless of his family's wealth, the opulent palazzo he lived in, his good manners, or his education... he was irreversibly considered a bad influence, a black sheep. Nevertheless, he put on a brave smile in the face of these repeated refusals, calmly responding that it didn't matter, that the door to his house was always wide open. Beneath his blond curls, he struggled to maintain a beaming facade. But internally, he wanted to scream, to shout with all his might.

He became acutely aware at an early age of the stigma that weighed on him and his lineage. He could read it in the hushed yet evocative silences of other nobles, in the pointed glances of certain court ladies. It was like a weight that constantly burdened their shoulders, like a languor that never wanted to leave them. This rejection was everywhere: in his deserted and subdued birthday parties, surrounded only by servants; on the playgrounds, like a barrier that other children couldn't cross. But Sigismar refused to bow his head. He stood tall, enduring the loneliness and exclusion, as his father had ordered him to do.

His lineage, tracing back to Ayxas, the third Kuningas of Asgartha, was infamous. It was present in all history books, even the least documented ones. His ancestor had turned the kingdom into a tyrannical regime, shedding blood abundantly, persecuting the inhabitants of the Protectorate when it was still just an extended city... Regardless of the time that had passed, this heavy legacy was like a stigma on his flesh, something that nothing seemed to be able to wash away. He had cried upon discovering this distant past, but his father had ordered him to dry his tears, to turn this legacy into strength, not weakness.

His father had turned this burden into his trademark, the keystone of his influence. He had diverted the disgust and fear he inspired to use them for his own purposes. A relentless politician, he had infiltrated diplomatic circles, not to act benevolently, but rather to compel action through intimidation and deception. He constantly repeated that people like him had a purpose, that they were necessary for a political system to endure. It was no coincidence that many Chambellans of the Asterion had been appointed within his family. His dynasty had a tenacious reputation: that of being composed of individuals willing to use all stratagems to achieve their goals, and capable of tackling thorny problems head-on without fear of getting their hands dirty.

In his early days, Ayxas had been a patient and kind monarch. There was nothing to suggest his descent into madness. He had been chosen by the Asgarthan population for his tact and morally impeccable values. He had been a loving and beloved sovereign. Reading and rereading the chronicles of historians, Sigismar couldn't understand how someone so upright and just could give way to such a ruthless despot. Was it something that flowed in their blood, as some liked to boast? Was infamy etched into the depths of their hearts, like an indelible mark? At first, Sigismar couldn't bring himself to accept it. But as time passed, a cold rage grew within him, the injustice taxing his soul and tarnishing his indulgence.

Of course, he lacked for nothing. Even though his father worked late in the corridors of the Basileus’ palace, his mother pampered him with gifts and indulged his every whim. However, these gifts came with a price, an obvious counterpart: he had to study etiquette, music theory and practice, eloquence and rhetoric, history, and sciences every day. As soon as they could, his parents enrolled him in private lessons with other children of the nobility. But here too, it was the same ballet of ridicule and thinly veiled remarks. Worse, it was now the children's turn to target him directly.

And the tutors were no exception. They, too, took pleasure in making cutting remarks whenever the opportunity arose. But fortunately, not all of them were so odious. One of his instructors, Kadri, took him under his wing, without dwelling on his ignominious background. In his eyes, children were in no way responsible for the sins of their parents, and they had the right and duty to exist on their own terms. At any moment, they could disregard the past with the aim of reinventing themselves. They were never condemned, at birth, to repeat the mistakes of their ancestors. With tolerance, Kadri led him to realize that he could change things if he wished.

In his spare time, Kadri taught him the basics of Alteration. This faculty was essentially the prospect of changing the world, rejecting fate, and by extension, mastering ideas. Sigismar became passionate about Glyphs and their use, always in secret, so that his parents wouldn't notice his growing interest in this discipline. And as Kadri had anticipated, the more Sigismar mastered this power, the more he managed to control his own feelings and emotions. With time, he touched a certain inner peace, which he had never known before.

At the same time, the young man became aware that he had been enslaved by his situation his whole life. His entire family believed the crime of their ancestor to be a curse that they had to embrace to tolerate their condition. But in doing so, they locked themselves in the same pattern, preventing the wound from truly healing. And Sigismar wanted to break the wheel of fate once and for all. He wanted to sweep away the past to rebuild, instead of enduring the weight of a legacy that made no sense to him.

The Rediscovery Endeavor resonated with him as a chance to wipe the slate clean and start afresh on solid ground. Far from Asgartha, he could make a name for himself through his own actions. With this ambition in mind, he decided to leave his clerkship and join the exploration forces, to put an end to the vicious circle that had plagued his family for centuries. He enlisted in the Ordis to pursue a military career, dreaming of anonymity, of being nothing more than a simple link in the chain. But that was without counting on his father's unexpected intervention.

While stationed on the heights of the Rampart, Sigismar was summoned to the offices of the colonel of his brigade. To his great surprise, his father was there, and his eyes widened when he discovered that he had persuaded the military hierarchy to grant his son a dispensation. He had a few years to learn military discipline, which could always serve within the government. But from now on, Sigismar had to embrace his political career, not to associate further with what he then disdainfully called the rabble.

Sigismar contested his decision, urging the citadel authorities to reconsider their judgment. But his father had appealed to the highest echelons of the Asterion, and the Faction’s hands and feet were tied in this matter. Weary and disgusted, Sigismar dragged his feet to retrieve his gear from his dormitory, suppressing his tears and struggling to keep alive the hope that his father relentlessly sought to stifle. Surrounded by two soldiers tasked with escorting him to the exit, he packed up his uniform and the rest of his equipment, inwardly cursing his father's insensitivity.

Sig asked the Aegis high command if Kadri could become his designated instructor for everything related to Alteration. He was also trained daily in weapons handling by the best Eidolons, from Jeanne d'Arc to Bedivere, to Robin Hood. But above all, the young paladin distinguished himself by his talent for leading men and women in combat, for motivating troops in the face of adversity. From the back of his griffin, now his Alter Ego and proud mount, Sigismar now commands the admiration of his peers and his regiment. After years of preparation, he can finally look himself in the mirror, now considered for who he is, and not just his ancestry.

But secretly, Sigismar dreams of shedding light on Ayxas's actions. The latter had uttered a curse during his exile in the Tumult, decreeing that humanity was not ready to face what lurked there. He had issued one last threat before his silhouette disappeared into the distance, implying that an enemy would one day strike Asgartha to once and for all break human civilization... What did he mean by that? What were the reasons for his madness and downfall? In his spare time, Sig combs through old grimoires in search of clues, of more substantial testimonies. But so far, nothing concrete has emerged, as if someone had deliberately erased these facts from books and manuals. When he walks on Caer Oorun, perhaps he will find preserved tomes there, recounting his story more accurately? In this way, he hopes to completely clear his name and claim a total redemption, which no one and nothing can call into question.