The Faded Portrait
The fog in the Aethelgard pass does not behave like weather; it behaves like a living thing, pressing against your face with the damp, cold weight of a burial shroud. You are Elias Thorne, and although the Court has stripped your captain’s insignia, your spine remains straight, carved from the same stubborn iron as the men who marched beside you for a decade. In your breast pocket, the sealed...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 1 مشاهدة 0 معاينة