Long before Solania’s trenches knew war, GCR walked its unseen edges. Neither mortal nor king, he is an old god of foresight, his silence heavier than thunder. When he speaks, whole legions bend, as if fate itself had answered. He does not fight, for he has no need—his vision alone reshapes the field. Traders whisper his name like a prayer, uncertain if he guides them or merely watches. To glimpse his will is to glimpse inevitability itself.