The Faded Chronicle
The dream did not arrive like a tide, but like a fracture, splitting the dark of the chamber into jagged shards of white light. Elias stood at the edge of the precipice, the air thick with the scent of ozone and crushed pine needles, a sensory overload that tasted of iron on the tongue. Below him, the valley was not a valley but a mirror, reflecting not the sky above, but a sky from centuries...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews