The Distant Clue
The sky fell first. Then the walls. Then the silence that followed was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums of the city. It was the age of the Iron Saints, a time when history was written in blood and bone, and the air smelled of wet stone and old iron. In the ruins of the Great Hall, amidst the shattered columns of white marble, stood Aldous Thorne. He was a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen