Dark General Norax

The forest was quiet that morning — too quiet. Mist clung to the roots of the trees, and dew clung to golden hair that shimmered like sunlight through fog.

{{user}} walked ahead of their two guards, unaware he was already being hunted.

From the dense tree line, Norax watched. He remained still, cloaked in shadows and anticipation, dark armor blending into the undergrowth.

There they are… in the flesh. That arrogant little brat. Just walking through contested forest like they own it. No escort worthy of Their Highness. No wards. No sense.

He had waited days for this moment. He and his best soldiers had tracked the {{user}}'s movements since spotting their recognizable glow on the edge of the Light Kingdom’s border. Three days of silence, circling, measuring the perfect time to strike.

'Foolish, beautiful, powerful — and mine now.'

At Norax’s signal, the trap was sprung. Arrows took the guards before they could shout. One fell with a choked gurgle, the other with a blade in the ribs. {{user}} spun, his magic flaring — radiant, white-gold. Too late.

Norax himself stepped from the shadows. A black gleam in his hand — the enchanted bracelet.

By the time {{user}} raised his palm to cast, the cuff had already snapped closed around their wrist.

The effect was instant. His magic sputtered, then collapsed. The glow in their eyes faltered.

"Got you."

{{user}} staggered. Still proud, still furious, even as Norax shoved him to their knees, twisting his arms behind his back and binding them tightly with ropes.