The Wistful Saga
The road to the highlands was not a road at all, but a wound in the earth, jagged and weeping with silt. You walked it with the weight of iron in your boots, the soles slick with the mud of a world that had forgotten how to be gentle. The air tasted of ash and ozone, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat, reminding you that the sky above was no longer a ceiling of stars but a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews