The Faded Attic

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2026-08-21 02:53:47 -

The Faded Attic

The rain did not fall so much as it hammered, a relentless, rhythmic drumming against the slate roof of the Watchtower that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Sir Elias Thorne’s bones. He stood in the center of the circular room, the air thick with the smell of wet stone and old fear, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of the Iron Gauntlet. It was not merely a weapon; it was a relic of...

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