The Night the Sun Was Forgotten

When Queen Tessalia Solari became pregnant, two members of the royal council—Askar the Enlightened One and Lisandra Dawnbringer—sensed treachery on the horizon. They conspired to hide the queen’s condition and the birth of the heir, Alfred Solari, away from the court’s eyes. For a few days, the child lived in secrecy. Then, Alistair struck.

Under the black of a moonless night, he unleashed his masterstroke: a colossal arcane working, drawn from his own genius and the tainted power of Vecna. The spell swept across all Solaris, scouring away the memories of its people. History itself was rewritten—every mind now believed Alistair had always been king. This false peace came with a cruel design: the enchantment induced comfort, obedience, and a deep aversion to questioning the past.

In the chaos of that night:

• John Loyal was seized and bound within an empty suit of enchanted armor, becoming the first Blackguard—a hollow sentinel of the crown.

• Riven Hollowmoor was betrayed and slain; his spirit, denied rest, returned to haunt his ship as a vengeful specter.

• Lisandra and Askar fled with Alfred, hiding him in an orphanage in Duskwarren. Captured soon after, they were subjected to a dark sacrificial rite. Both survived as warped Corrupted—Lisandra reduced to faint shards of memory, knowing only her name, and Askar reborn as Skara, a being of thorn and rage.

• Adam Farrel, though ensnared by the amnesia, acted on instinctive distrust. He spirited away the crown of Lucio, hiding it with cryptic clues and inscribing the message “Beloved – A. Solari” as a faint echo of truth.

• Maelrik Vordane resisted the memory curse through sheer will and mastery, but the act shattered his mind. He vanished into exile at The Wise One’s Hideout, half-genius, half-mad.

• Vespuccio Solari, driven insane by the sudden erasure of his brother Lucio, fled south. Lost in delusion, he assumed the identity of the dead king, becoming Veslucio and haunting forgotten ruins in the Stormcall Archipelago.

For Eryndor Malvorn, the night was one of chains. Seized by palace guards before he could rally a defense, the paladin was dragged into the lightless underbelly of Solcrest Palace. Alistair did not kill him—not yet. Instead, he became a living trophy, shackled in iron and kept in the lowest dungeons where the sun’s warmth would never reach. There, Alistair visits him still, testing his brother’s faith with words as cruel as the shackles that hold him.

And somewhere above those dungeons, in shadowed corridors unseen by most, Malachai Malvorn prowls. The abomination’s presence is a constant reminder that the palace now breathes Alistair’s will—every stone, every shadow, every life within its walls bent to the king who remade history in a single night.