The Golden Scar
The iron bars of the watchtower groaned under the weight of the crowd below, a sound that vibrated through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my bones. I am Silas Vane, a Warden of the Citadel, and I have held this post for twenty years, long enough to know that the stone remembers every blow struck against it. My baton, cold and heavy in my hand, was the only thing separating me from...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews