The Golden Quest
Ernst Vogel was thirty-four years old, and he had spent the last three months sleeping on a straw pallet in the attic of the shrine, his hands stained black to the wrist. The town of Kael, perched on the alpine cliffs above the river, treated him as a stain on the stone itself, a man whose blood was too thin, too foreign, to hold the ink that bound the Royal Codex. He did not mind the cold, nor...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews