Heaven's Embrace

"Once a bastion of stone and steel, Heaven's Embrace now blooms beneath ivy and laughter- a true transformation of wonder in the heart of the Empire."

— Matron Sylvia Gallenos

Introduction

Sarnad the Humble

Once known as The Lion's Stronghold, this fortress was raised in honor of Emperor Alarin I Condore, the conqueror of Keraian and founder of Kena'an's greatest empire. For nearly four centuries, it stood as a bastion of military pride, sheltering the knights that would later become the legendary Order of the Silver Stallion.

But when war came to claim its walls, the fort was abandoned. Many wished it would fade into memory, a ruin consumed by silence, taking with it one of the darkest disgraces of the Condore Dynasty.

Yet, where others saw failure, one man saw hope. Sarnad the Humble, a solitary monk, believed that the future of the world could be seen in the eyes of the children. Long after his death, he would be named a saint, and his vision would shape the fort's rebirth. Where once there was war, now there is a sanctuary.

Lion' s Stronghold

Original Purpose

The foundations of the Lion's Stronghold were laid in the twilight years of emperor Alarin I Condore, the first ruler of the united Keraian Empire. The city of Thandor, though destined for greatness, was then a young settlement, a little more than a fortified town struggling to hold the weight of imperial ambitions.

To protect his nascent capital, Alarin ordered the construction of a grand fortress near the newly erected palace district. Its purpose was not solely defensive- by all accounts it was mainly a symbolic decision. The fort would stand as a monument to imperial strength, housing the empire's finest knights and ensuring that no enemy would threatens the emperor's seat.

But fate is a fickle master. Alarin did not live to see his grand fortress completed. His death was sudden, his last breath taken beneath new forged banners that had yet to see the wind of victory or defeat.

It was his son, Emperor Andrew I, who took up the mantle. Determined to honor his father's memory and stabilize his reign, he saw the fort's construction finished in 78 ADA.

Andrew named it Lion's Stronghold, thus invoking his father's title- one he had earned on the battlefield. The ceremony was a solemn affair. Novirath's priests blessed the walls and the first knights of what would become the Order of the Silver Stallion swore their oaths beneath its stone arches.

The Stronghold became a place where duty and legacy met. Its walls were said to echo with the lion's roar when the empire faced threat; a reminder that though Alarin's body lay in the earth, his spirit always watched over Thandor

Yet empires, like stone, are not immune to time's erosion. The fortress stood for centuries, but its fate- like that of the dynasty it served- marched towards an uncertain future.

Alternative Names

Lion's Stronghold, Stallions Den

Type

Orphanage

Parent Location

Marble Miracle

Owner

Matron Sylvia Gallenos

Owning Organization

The Suntouched

Characters in Location

• Matron Sylvia Gallenos

Founding Date (Fortress)

78 ADA

Fortress Abandoned

485 ADA

Founding Date (orphanage)

501 ADA

Orphanage Founder

Saint Sarnad the Humble

Related Articles

Architecture

Lion's Stronghold by Arktouro

Lion's Stronghold was a masterwork of imperial might, a proof of both martial power and architectural brilliance. Designed by the renowned Maximus Candeskus- a distinguished architect of the royal court and heir to the noble Candeskus lineage- the fort stood as a crowning achievement of the empire Its construction reflected a vision that married defense with the practicalities of daily military life, blending strength, elegance and functionality into a singular, imposing form.

Crafted as a near-perfect circle, its geometry was both symbolic and strategic, allowing for an even distribution of defensive strength. The structure was encircled by a semicircular moat, measuring approximately 3 meters in width and 6 meters in depth. This moat, curving like a silver scythe around the walls, was more than a barrier; it was an emblem of vigilance, a reminder that the empire’s strength began with denying the enemy a foothold.

Three watchtowers rose from the stronghold like eternal sentinels: two guarding the main entrances and one anchoring the far corner. These towers were eyes upon the horizon, vigilant and unyielding. Each was designed for defense and observation, with narrow arrow slits and high vantage points that allowed defenders to rain down judgment upon any who dared approach.

Entry into the fortress was granted through the imposing Roaring Gate, its stone arch crowned with the emblem of the Condore Dynasty. The gate was designed not only as a passage but as a threshold where friend and foe alike were reminded of the empire’s enduring legacy. A secondary gate on the right side of the walls provided an alternative route but was smaller and less accessible, intended primarily for supply deliveries and auxiliary movements.

Inside, the fortress unfolded in a layout that mirrored the clarity of military strategy. To the right of the Roaring Gate, the grand stables stood, expansive and sturdy, housing prized warhorses. These were no mere beasts but extensions of the knightly order, cared for with a reverence befitting their role. To the left, the armory, garrisons, and barracks stretched in sequence; a linear progression that mirrored the rhythm of soldierly life. Here, warriors slept, trained, and prepared, their lives governed by the cadence of discipline and duty.

At the heart of the fortress lay the open training grounds. Once, this expanse echoed with the clash of steel and the bark of command, a proving ground where knights and soldiers were tempered for the crucible of war. Its openness allowed for full formations and drills- a space where discipline was carved as deeply as any inscription on stone.

Ground Floor

Beyond the training grounds, at the farthest edge, rose the main building: a bastion within a bastion. This structure housed the core of command and survival. The ground floor served as the lifeblood of the stronghold, with a vast dining hall where warriors gathered, a bustling kitchen that fed them, and storage rooms stocked to weather sieges. Even the latrine, its waste channeled into the moat, was designed with strategic precision.

First Floor

Ascending to the upper floor, one found the commander’s quarters and office. A modest altar dedicated to the worship of Novirath, god of Sun and valor, stood as a silent witness to both victory and sacrifice, offering a sacred space for prayer before battle. Additional storerooms lined the upper level, safeguarding the fortress's reserves.

Basement

Beneath the stone foundations, the basement was a place of both necessity and secrecy. A deep well provided life-sustaining water, while a coal-fed central heating system ensured warmth during the coldest winters. And hidden beyond was a secret passage; a narrow, silent artery leading to the city's sewers, an escape route known only to the most trusted.

The Burning of the Roar

Valen Darkwood

In the year 483 ADA, the empire was torn apart by the Darkwood Uprising- a civil war that scarred Condore Dynasty. Leading the rebellion was Valen Darkwood, once a vice-captain of the Order of the Silver Stalion and a trusted commander within Lion’s Stronghold itself. Disillusioned by what he deemed the corruption of the Condore line, Valen forsook his oaths and turned against the empire he had once served.

But rebellion was a heavy mantle, and defeat loomed over Darkwood’s forces. Desperate, Valen forged a grim alliance with the orcish tribes of Myltery. He believed that if the Stronghold fell, the tide of war might shift in his favor. His intimate knowledge of the fort’s design, born from years of service, became the seed of its betrayal.

While the fort’s garrison guarded the known sewer passage, unaware of deeper vulnerabilities, Valen revealed a darker secret. Beneath the fort, the well connected to an ancient, forgotten passage- one even the knights themselves did not know existed. It was through this hidden route that the orcs crept, infiltrating the heart of the Stronghold.

In the dead of night, they struck with brutal precision. Their attack was swift, igniting the coal-fed heating system in the basement. The explosion tore through the stone, collapsing one of the towers and sending fire and smoke through the narrow corridors. The knights fought with the desperation of men defending not just their lives, but their legacy. The ground was choked with ash and blood, the cries of the dying echoing off the walls Valen Darkwood once called home.

In the end, the Order repelled the attack, but victory tasted of ash. The fort was scarred, its spirit broken. The empire, shamed by the betrayal of one of its own, declared the site cursed. The commander of the garrison was stripped of rank and executed for his failure, though whispers spoke of political scapegoating more than justice.

The Aftermath

In the turbulent finale of the Darkwood Uprising, Lion’s Stronghold transformed into a symbol of imperial disgrace. Whispers and legends soon swirled around its shattered walls: many believed that the treacherous events of 483 ADA had imbued the site with a dark, unshakeable curse. Some claimed the blood spilled during the betrayal had tainted the very ground, condemning the fort to be forever shunned by fortune and favor.

Political necessity, too, played its part. Rebuilding or reoccupying such a storied and cursed monument risked reopening old wounds and inviting further dissent among the populace, already scarred by the rebellion and subsequent scapegoating. In the eyes of many, reclaiming Lion's Stronghold would serve only to remind the empire of its darkest hour- a risk too great to bear.

And so the Stronghold became a ruin, crumbling beneath shadow and silence, until hope crossed its collapsed gates in the form of a humble man with calloused hands and a silent vow.

The Legend of Sarnad the Humble

They say he came from nowhere. One dawn, beneath skies the color of old steel, a man stood at the crumbling gates of Lion’s Stronghold. Alone, cloaked in simple linen, with eyes that held neither plea nor pride, he crossed the threshold of ruin. His name was Sarnad. He did not speak- not because he could not, but because he had chosen silence. A vow, taken for reasons he never shared.

The Stronghold had been forsaken for years, left to decay like the shameful memories of its fall. Weeds coiled through its stones, and its halls echoed only with the whispers of wind and ghosts. But Sarnad saw more than ruin. He saw walls that could shelter the broken, stones that could house the forgotten, a place where life could be nurtured, not destroyed.

With bare hands and patient toil, he worked. Day by day, year by year, he hauled stones and mended walls. He rebuilt the hearths, swept the dust of war from the corners, and turned the courtyard where once soldiers had trained for death, into a refuge for life. The poor and hungry came first. Then the abandoned. Children with hollow eyes, outcasts with nowhere to go. Sarnad fed them from his own hand, asking nothing in return. His silence was not absence but presence, an unspoken act of devotion.

But the world is rarely kind to those who are different. Whispers began. Why did he not speak? What did he hide? When a sickness swept through the city, claiming the lives of several of the poorest children, fear sought a scapegoat. And who better than the silent man who dwelled among the ruins, who worked by moonlight and shunned the company of others? The accusations came swift and sharp. Dark magic. Poison. Some claimed he had lured the children to their deaths. Others said his silence was the mark of guilt.

Sarnad did not defend himself. Not with words. Perhaps he believed his life spoke enough. Perhaps he knew it would not matter. He was dragged from the Stronghold, beaten, chained, and condemned. And when the executioner's blade fell, he uttered not a word. It was only after his death that the truth unraveled. The children had not been poisoned but had perished from a disease born of foul water; an ailment Sarnad had fought to ease, nursing them with herbs and comfort.

His only crime had been kindness.

It took nearly two centuries for the Church of Novirath to name him a saint. By then, his story had become a parable: of humility, sacrifice, and the cruelty of false judgment. They called him Sarnad the Humble, patron of the lost and voiceless, protector of orphans and the poor.

|"The Humble Saint" by Professor Laurence Barn

The Rise of Heaven's Embrace

In the long shadow of Sarnad’s unjust death, the ruins of Lion’s Stronghold did not fall silent. The poor, the outcast, and the forgotten- those Sarnad had sheltered- remained. They clung to the crumbling walls as if to the last fragments of his memory, carving lives from the stone he had once rebuilt with his own hands. For decades, the ruins became an unspoken refuge. No decree marked its purpose, no banners flew above its towers, but in its hollowed halls, the unwanted found shelter. It was a place of quiet suffering and quiet hope, too low for the eyes of nobles and too distant for the concern of kings.

But time is a patient force, grinding all things toward change. By 700 ADA, the temple district grew around the neighborhood of the old stronghold, its influence reaching into the city's bones. The newly assembled Divine Conclave, ever watchful for both piety and opportunity, turned their gaze to the forgotten ruin. They saw the suffering still nestled within its walls and the legend that lingered over its stones. Perhaps they saw a chance for redemption; not only for the city but for themselves as well.

In 723 ADA, a decree was issued. The ruins would be sanctified, restored not as a fortress of war but as a bastion of mercy. The decision was framed as an act of faith, a fulfillment of Sarnad’s legacy, though politics wove through it like shadow through cloth. To transform the cursed ground into a place of healing was to reclaim it from its shame and to cement the authority of the Clerics over the blooming Marble Miracle district. It was a gesture that spoke of divine will, but also of power.

They named it Heaven's Embrace, a title as soft as it was calculated. Here, the orphans of the empire would be gathered, the lost cradled beneath the watchful eyes of the faithful. Here, the legacy of Sarnad the Humble would be enshrined in stone and purpose. The bones of the old fort were reshaped, not to repel invaders but to shelter the forsaken. And though the Churches claimed the vision as their own, there are still whispers that it was Sarnad’s will that had prevailed; that in the end, his silence had spoken loud enough to be heard beyond the veil.

Renovations: From Ruin to Refuge

Heaven's Embrace by Arktouro

The Moat : A Verdant Emrbace

What was once a stagnant moat, a symbol of defense and division, became a place of unity and joy. The waters had long since drained, leaving only an empty scar around the orphanage. It is now transformed into a vibrant park, its path encircling the grounds like an embrace. Lush grasses carpet the basin, dotted with wildflowers and saplings that children plant each year to mark the passing of seasons. Stone benches line the path, offering quiet places for reflection, while small wooden bridges cross what remain of the old channels, symbols of passage from hardship to hope. Here, the children run, play, and dream, their laughter echoing where once only silence dwelled.

The Stables: Gardens of Sustenance

The stables, where horses once stamped in readiness for war, now nurture life of a gentler kind. They were torn open to the sun, their stone bones cradling soil and green life. Gardens bloom within these walls, growing vegetables, fruits, and herbs to feed the orphanage. An adjoining greenhouse stretches along the eastern wall, its glass panes misted in the morning light. Here, older children tend to delicate seedlings, learning patience and care; skills as vital as any craft. This place teaches not just how to plant, but how to nurture, to coax life from earth and effort.

The Wall of Parting

Along the northern outer wall, where stone still bears the scars of ancient battle, the orphanage has created a living monument. Named the Wall of Parting, it is a canvas where every child who leaves the orphanage leaves their mark. Handprints painted in bright hues, names etched in small carvings, tokens pressed into the cracks- each imprint tells a story of a life that passed through, of a child who found shelter and hope. Over time, the wall has become a tapestry of memory, a promise that none will be forgotten.

The Towers: Halls of Craft and Skill

Two of the three original towers still stand, though weathered by centuries. Their lower chambers have been reshaped into workshops. One hums with the sharp rhythm of woodcraft, the scrape of saw against grain. The other sings with the ring of metal, where young hands learn to forge nails, hinges, or delicate trinkets. These workshops are more than places of craft; they are sanctuaries where the older children learn skills that will serve them beyond the orphanage’s walls.

The third tower, collapsed during the fort’s darkest days, remains untouched. Its broken stones stand as a silent monument to the ruin of the past and the strength born from it. No effort is made to rebuild it; its absence is a reminder that not all wounds must be healed to be honored.

The Barracks: Dormitories of Comfort

Where once soldiers laid their heads between battles, now rest children seeking peace. The barracks were stripped of their harsh severity and rebuilt as dormitories. Wide, sunlit windows invite warmth and air. The walls are painted in soft hues, and each bed bears its own little mark of individuality; a carved name, a chosen color. Here, friendship is born and shared stories are whispered in the dark. No longer a place of cold discipline, the dormitories stand as sanctuaries of safety and rest.

The Training Grounds: Fields of Joy

Once a ground for sword drills and battle formations, the courtyard has been reclaimed as a place of play. Soft grass blankets the earth, and wooden structures form playgrounds where laughter now rises. Simple games are played here, but also lessons in trust, teamwork, and courage. What was once a place for preparing to take life is now a space where life is nurtured and cherished.

The Heart of the Home: Dining and Kitchen

The dining hall, once dark and heavy with the smoke of old fires, has been opened to light. Larger windows were carved into the ancient stone, letting in the dawn and dusk. The walls are painted with warm, earthy tones, and flowers bloom in pots upon every sill. The kitchen, brims with color, scent, and shared labor. Here, children learn to cook, to share meals, to offer thanks for simple blessings. The hearth remains as the beating heart of a home.

The Upper Floor: Care and Leadership

Above, where commanders once plotted tactics, now stands the quiet strength of care. The largest rooms have been opened into an infirmary, where the sick children are tended with patience and love. Beside it is the nursery, where the youngest- babies and toddlers-sleep and grow, cradled in warmth and gentleness. The old commander’s office now serves a different kind of authority: it is the administrative heart of the orphanage, where Matron Sylvia Gallenos oversees her charges and ensures that Sarnad’s legacy is honored each day.

The Sacred Spaces

Where once stood an altar for a single god, now stands a statue of Sarnad the Humble. Carved in simple stone, he is depicted as he lived: barefoot, cloaked, with open hands. There is no face of grandeur, no crown of sainthood. Only humility, service, and sacrifice. The statue watches over the courtyard, a guardian not of walls, but of spirits. Beyond the entrance, under open sky, a communal altar rests. Each deity of the Divine Conclave is represented in humble symbols. It is a place of shared faith where the children may find their own paths beneath the eyes of the divine.

In every stone and corner, the orphanage speaks of transformation. From ruin to refuge, from silence to song. It is more than a place of safety; it is a place of becoming, where broken things are mended and every child is reminded that their life, like the walls that surround them, can be shaped into something lasting and beautiful.

— High Cleric of Silanthas