The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 10:59:07 -

The Wistful Ashes

The dream was red. Not the red of blood. Not the red of the brick walls of the Hall. It was the red of the iron gate. The gate that had not opened in forty years. Thomas stood before it. He held no weapon. He wore no armor. Only his tunic, stained with the dust of the cellar. The gate screamed. He woke. The ceiling was low. The air smelled of damp stone and old wax. He was in his cell. Or...

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