The Golden Maze
The wind did not blow. It screamed. It tore at the uniform of Sergeant Elias Thorne, a sound like tearing sheet metal, a sound that had no business existing in the silence of the void. He was running. He was always running. The ground beneath his boots was not earth, but a shimmering, translucent membrane that stretched into an infinite, golden haze. It pulsed. It breathed. It watched. Elias...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima