The Wistful Cipher

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 04:00:05 -

The fog sat thick on the moors. It tasted of iron and rot. I stood at the gate. The iron was cold. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The Citadel rose above the mist. Black stone. No windows that glowed. Only darkness. A beast sleeping. I am a soldier. I have served the Crown. I have kept the peace. But the peace was a lie. The air here was wrong. It hummed. A low, sick drone. Like a...

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