The Distant Crown

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 10:06:05 -

The Distant Crown

The rain falls in sheets. Gray. Cold. It hits the iron of your breastplate with a sound like teeth chattering. You are standing in the square of Oakhaven. The town is small. Stuck together. The roofs are slate. The stones are wet. You hold your spear. The wood is slick. Your fingers slide. You grip tighter. The air smells of wet wool and old fear. You dream of the crown. It is not gold. It is...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews