The Wistful Ashes
The soot had a taste, a gritty, metallic sweetness that coated the back of my throat and settled in the creases of my knuckles, a flavor that had become indistinguishable from the air itself in the village of Oakhaven. I am Elias, an Ash-Warden, a title that once carried the weight of respect and now carries only the stink of old debts and broken promises, and I stood before the great oak doors...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews