The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-25 02:39:56 -

The Wistful Ashes

The parchment lay on the stone table, its edges curling in the damp air of the cell. It was a requisition form, standard issue, the ink still wet and black as a bruise. Kaelen stared at the name at the bottom: Elara. His sister. The paper smelled of oak gall and old fear. He was thirty-two years old, an Inquisitor of the Third Order, and he had twelve days of service left before his pension was...

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