The Faded River

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 01:06:56 -

The Faded River

The rain did not fall. It hung. A gray, heavy curtain of mist shrouded the valley. The air tasted of wet iron and cold ash. I sat on a stone bench outside the gate of the Abbey. My sword leaned against my hip, its hilt slick with moisture. The steel was dark, unpolished. It had been a long time since I had seen my own face in the blade. My name is Thomas. I was a soldier. Or I had been. Now I...

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