The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-21 22:18:43 -

The forge was cold. Silence. Thick. Heavy. Edgar stared at the anvil. Iron. Cold. Dead. He breathed. In. Out. The air tasted of rust. Old blood. No fire. No hammer. Just the echo of a strike. Years ago. He looked at his hands. Scarred. Thick. Knuckles swollen like roots. He was a smith. No. He was a King. The title hung in the air. A ghost. The court was empty. Not empty. Absent. The King sat...

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