The Wistful Incense
The road to the Citadel of Aethelgard was not merely a path of packed earth and mud, but a artery of sorrow that pulsed beneath the hooves of the mounted guard, carrying the weight of a duty that had long since curdled into a rot within the marrow of the kingdom. Sir Aldric Vane rode with a stillness that was not peace, but a suspended breath, his armor a cage of silvered steel that reflected...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare