All across the vast expanse of the realm, those who had once crowded the deck of The Silver Horizon lay stranded in unfamiliar landscapes, the lingering echoes of disruptive magic scattering them without rhyme or reason. On a sun-kissed field of shifting grasses, the princess of Elytheris, who was fair and graceful, even in her weariness, dozed, her hair draped over the soft earth. Unconscious and oblivious, she found a quick breather from the chaos that swallowed her, tearing her from her companions and home.
Far from that gentle stretch of land, the Orb of Astralyth, so coveted, so fiercely guarded, rested in a realm of unending dimness. Water dripped from unseen stalactites, forming shallow pools around slick, mossy stones. A faint sulfuric odor tainted the stagnant air, and the claustrophobic dampness weighed upon every corner. The Orb’s light, searing white as a captured star, cast jagged, dancing shadows across the walls. Its radiance pulsed like the heartbeat of some ancient, alien god, illuminating rotted timbers and disintegrating debris strewn about.
In this claustrophobic gloom lurked a solitary figure. Initially so small and inconsequential it might have gone unnoticed in a crowded alley, the creature now stood transfixed by the Orb’s incandescent brilliance. Slick with dripping condensation, its flesh trembled each time the relic’s glow intensified. The harsh light revealed the early stages of a horrifying metamorphosis: limbs lengthening ever so slightly, skin discoloring in angry splotches where the magic took root. A weak hiss slid from its mouth, echoing in the damp cavern and betraying the dissonance in its twisted mind.
Sometimes, it shambled closer, malformed fingers quivering in reverent awe. At other times, it shrank back, half-hunched behind a veil of stalagmites, cowering from the object it craved and loathed. Soft, desperate sounds escaped its mouth, pleading for release from the relentless urge to touch the Orb and feel that punishing light sear mortal frailty away.
Yet the Orb’s power was merciless and all-encompassing. It infused the creature’s body with every radiant flash, fusing with sinew and bone in a process that mixed fascination with torment. The changes were subtle in one moment and jarringly pronounced the next, skin mottling with bruised coloration, joints bending at uneasy angles, eyes flickering with madness. Glistening droplets of water, dripping steadily from above, mirrored the creature’s own sweat, the droplets rolling across ridges of newly formed muscle and swelling tissue.
A labored breath tore from the beast’s throat. Part moan, part whimper. It pressed forward in devotion, then recoiled in disgust, its face contorting with warring emotions. Love and hate mingled, swirling behind its hollow stare. The Orb, unwavering in its brilliance, pulsed anew, brighter this time. The cavern glowed white-hot for an instant. Letting out a ragged hiss, the creature collapsed onto knees that creaked from recent changes, arms stretched toward the cursed artifact. Even amid agony, it could not deny its drawn fascination like a moth scalding itself against a flame.
And so, the beast endured this endless cycle of pained worship, hunched over in that dripping blackness. It clung to the Orb’s radiance despite every instinct shrieking in protest. Far away, the princess slumbered on a bed of grass and sunlight. In a dreary pocket of half-lit gloom, the relic she once safeguarded found a new and unwilling host. With every heartbeat of that star-born glow, the creature slipped further from what it had been, caught in a feverish dance of adoration and loathing, and with no one to witness or halt its slow spiral into something entirely inhuman.
~~~
On the northern continent of Maltcrux, the land stretched out with rolling plains and gentle, fern-laced hills. A mild sun presided over, bathing its wide meadows and thriving farmland in a soft, golden light. Small clusters of oaks and elms broke the horizon here and there while distant mountain peaks loomed to the east, their silhouettes faint and dreamy against the clear sky. By contrast, to the west lay lush forests and winding rivers that eventually spilled into the sea. Maltcrux boasted a vibrant diversity of cultures and inhabitants for all its temperate climes: a patchwork of bustling cities, rural villages, and nomadic tribes.
Near one such metropolis, Relict, the midday warmth carried the singsong hum of commerce and travel. Tall stone walls girded the city, their weathered ramparts decorated with flags of deep crimson and pale silver. Towers jutted from the walls at intervals, forming lookouts topped by banners that flapped in the breeze. Spread before these fortifications was a busy main road lined with caravans, peddlers, and adventurous souls on horseback. Farmers in roughspun tunics drove mules laden with produce; traders hawked spices or rare wares; and travelers from every corner of the continent mingled, each carrying tales or hopes of fortune.
Into this lively scene stumbled Lady Faye Strumwiever. She appeared with fanfare, as though plucked from the sky by unseen hands and deposited onto a patch of grass beside the roadway, a bright light emanating from where she landed before fading completely. Her robe was slightly rumpled from the ordeal, and her pointed elven ears peeked out through midnight-blue hair. The woman clutched the hefty, leather-bound tome, Grimmy, close to her chest, the binding adorned with worn silver clasps that caught glints of the afternoon sun.
At once, passersby noticed the lone elf, clearly disoriented and out of place. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some onlookers wore expressions of alarm, children hid behind their parents, uncertain what manner of spellcaster or spirit appeared in their midst. Others, curiosity gleaming in their eyes, drifted nearer, drawn by Faye’s curious appearance and the aura of magic clinging to her. Here and there, a merchant or traveler recognized the distinctive cut of her robe and the pointed ears. Perhaps they had even heard legends of isolated elves from distant shores.
Faye fought the urge to turn and flee. Her heart thundered, and every nerve was raw, still reeling from the violent storm of teleportation that ripped her from the seas near Elytheris. She forced a shaky breath, blinking against the bright sun. Around her, farmers in wide-brimmed hats took a hesitant step forward, baskets full of produce clutched in weathered hands. A few children, eyes wide with excitement, whispered guesses.
Was she a princess? A wizard? A legendary elf came to bestow blessings?
There was no sign of her friends and no immediate threat. Faye mustered a tremulous smile. Her gaze lowered to the grass beneath her, then shifted up at the city walls. Their gray stones towered overhead, buttressed with timber scaffolding in some places where repairs were ongoing. Beyond the gates, she glimpsed winding cobblestone streets bustling with life.
Relict was a place of caravans, taverns, guildhalls, and hidden enclaves of magic and intrigue.
The crowd gathered around her. An older woman in a patched cloak clutched her walking staff nervously, expecting a magical outburst. Meanwhile, a young artisan with his apron dusted with sawdust gawked openly at Faye, fascination shining in his eyes. One child stood on tiptoe, half-hoping Faye might demonstrate a spell right then and there.
Faye swallowed hard; her throat dry. Still gripping Grimmy, she managed to nod politely at a few of the closer onlookers. Nobody hurled accusations or advanced threateningly; relief flickered through her, though uncertainty still clenched her gut. She had no coins, no map, and no sense of local laws. Should she attempt a polite greeting? Faye wondered, fear and exhaustion mingling under her demure demeanor.
In that anxious moment, a figure in a simple brown cloak observed her from the periphery of the crowd, quite like the ones on The Silver Horizon. The stranger’s hood obscured most features. Before Faye could decide whether to call out or beckon, the figure pivoted and threaded deftly through the throng, heading directly toward Relict’s open gates.
A man clearing his throat snapped her back to the present. A donkey pulling a rickety cart bleated, and the ring of watchers began to disperse under the renewed momentum of daily life. Some cast final curious glances over their shoulders at the elven woman who dropped out of nowhere.
Faye exhaled, her hands trembling around Grimmy’s worn cover. They didn’t attack her; she noted with hesitant optimism. But she couldn’t stay there forever. The city’s silhouette beckoned as an unknown labyrinth of possibilities. Her best option, she decided, was to follow the tide of merchants and travelers into the city. Perhaps within those fortified walls, she’d glean some clue about her missing friends, where she was, or a way to return to Elytheris.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, she clutched her tome a little tighter to her chest. Tossing one final glance at the departing stranger in the brown cloak already fading into the urban bustle, Faye set her shoulders and stepped onto the cobblestone road leading into the city.
~~~
Far from temperate Maltcrux and its bustling city of Relict, Ranger Aer Sylverlief found herself sprinting over a harsh, sunbaked slope. Crumbling gravel and jagged stones bit into her boots as she fled down the hillside, a single, ominous shadow stretching over her like a living shroud. Above her, a red dragon soared in slow, measured circles, each powerful wingbeat stirring a dusty wind that raked the sparse grasses and loose rock. Its gargantuan form glimmered in the midday sun, crimson scales polished to a near-metallic sheen, while a great tail fanned out behind it, whipping lazily from side to side.
Despite the dragon’s fiery coloration, its eyes glowed an unsettling shade of piercing blue. Those predatory orbs locked onto Aer’s fleeing figure with an intensity that made her heart pound relentlessly. It was toying with her, her instincts warned, and a prickling fear gnawed at the base of her skull. She was both quarry and amusement for the beast, which seemed in no haste to close the distance.
Behind her, the land sloped up toward a towering mountain ridge. Smoke or steam rose from hidden vents along the rocky heights, hints of volcanic activity filling the air with sulfur's acrid tang. A sudden gust rolling off the mountain’s flank wafted that rotten-egg odor down the slope, making Aer’s nose wrinkle. She could feel the hot breath of the land itself, as though this entire place was one massive furnace.
Ahead, the mountain’s crags gave way to a dense tree line. Pale green conifers and broad-leafed trees jostled for space, their trunks stretching skyward like longing for relief from the rocky ground. A faint hush of wind rattled the upper branches, carrying a promise of cooler shade. Dark and shadowy beneath the blazing sun, that sliver of forest might be her only chance to lose the dragon. But with each step she took, the oppressive weight of its gaze pressed down, a silent threat that her every move was being watched.
Aer’s ranger senses screamed at her that she needed to move smarter, not just faster. But what could she do against a dragon? Aer had never faced one before in all of her years of living. She had never hunted one. The thought almost tugged the corners of her mouth up as a spark of excitement was lit before quickly dying. Her usual toolkit was starkly insufficient. There was no vantage point to strike from, no fellow archers or knights by her side, no illusions or incantations to hide her trail. She was, in a way, naked, outrun by fate and carried only by raw adrenaline. Warm sweat trickled from her temples, soaked the collar of her leather tunic, and stung her eyes. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep going.
A terrible roar split the sky. The dragon flapped its wings, unleashing a gust that momentarily buffeted Aer from behind, nearly sending her tumbling across the dusty ground. She caught herself against a protruding rock, heart hammering in her chest, before whipping around to gauge the creature’s position. It hung in the air not far above, bright sunlight illuminating each scale like a living fire. Despite the ominous noise, the beast did not descend. Its movements were deliberate, each wing stroke methodical, savoring her terror.
She set off again, half-running, half-skidding down the slope. Loose stones clattered in her wake. The edges of her vision blurred with exhaustion and panic; the day’s relentless heat radiated from the rocky soil, intensifying her sense of claustrophobia. Still, she pressed toward the tree line where the canopy of leaves might at least mask her from the dragon’s direct sight.
At last, she reached the forest boundary. Needles and broken twigs crunched underfoot, and tall pines cast flickering shadows across her path. Here, the air felt marginally cooler, though the odor of sap mingled with the lingering sulfur. Aer dared a glance upward. Gaps in the canopy revealed patches of blazing sky, and somewhere beyond that curtain of green, the scarlet shape circled, unyielding.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Her lungs burned with every breath. She had to decide quickly how to proceed. Hide among the thick trunks and undergrowth or attempt to outrun the beast altogether. But the trembling in her legs told her she couldn’t keep sprinting forever. And a dragon? She swallowed dryly. There was no outrunning it if it chose to give chase.
A flicker of movement overhead caught her eye. The dragon’s tail flicked again; she sensed it was repositioning. It was only a matter of time, she thought grimly. It could roast her from above or snatch her in one swoop. A ball of dread coiled in her stomach, but she forced down the panic, instincts as a ranger pushing her to focus on the surroundings. She scanned the ferns, the thick brambles, the dips in the forest floor for any potential hideaway.
At least for the moment, the giant predator kept drifting like a cat playing with a cornered mouse. Aer clenched her jaw. If that was her advantage, that the dragon found the chase entertaining, she might exploit it. All Aer needed was a plan, or a stroke of luck, or a more favorable terrain deeper within the forest. Keep going. Keep going. She forced herself to breathe, set her sights on a denser patch of trees, and started running faster and faster, never slowing down.
High above, those electric-blue eyes watched, unblinking, as the ranger dove into the shadowy depths of the woods. The thrill of the hunt crackled in the hush between each wingbeat, leaving Aer acutely aware that the margin of her life hung on the whim of a red dragon’s fancy.
~~~
Nestled within the western isles of Ohatsu, a land famed for its sacred groves and hidden shrines, High Priestess Liori Evargloe found herself seated, dazed, in a shallow woodland stream. Cold water lapped at her waist, her robes clinging to her legs in dark, wet folds. Around her stretched a circle of thick ropes, strung at intervals with polished paper charms. Each charm, inscribed with foreign symbols, fluttered in the faint breeze. Liori’s teal eyes flicked over the unfamiliar writing, noting the careful brushstrokes and the faint aura of warding magic clinging to them.
The stream itself wound through a clearing haloed by ancient pines and twisting willows, their branches arching overhead to create a cathedral of greenery. Despite the gentle trickle of water over mossy stones, an undercurrent of tension throbbed through the air. Liori sat up slowly, water droplets sliding from her arms. The slender cords of her priestess attire clung uncomfortably to her body, but she forced her mind to remain calm and focused.
Standing on the grassy bank before her was a colossal nine-tailed fox, fur-like black velvet brushed with faint amethyst highlights. Each tail fanned out in a graceful arc, swishing quietly and powerfully. Although its obsidian eyes held no obvious malice, they regarded her with their piercing intelligence. The creature was both regal and dangerous, a presence torn from the pages of ancient myths.
Liori rose to her feet carefully. The water rippled away, droplets cascading from her soaked robe. She suppressed a shiver as the cool air kissed her damp skin. Then, recalling her formal training and etiquette, she performed an elegant curtsey: one foot behind the other, a gentle bend of the knees, eyes lowered in deference. For several heartbeats, she remained thus, aware of the fox’s gaze never wavering.
The silence thickened. In the canopy above, crickets chirped, and the wind carried the soft rustle of leaves. The rope-woven charms twitched in that breeze, their glossy surfaces reflecting stray moonlight peeking through the trees. Gradually, Liori lifted her head, her hair clinging in damp locks around her face. A faint bead of water clung to her lashes.
She dared to meet the fox’s dark gaze once more. A guardian spirit? She wondered. The priestess sensed no immediate hostility, only a silent expectation, as though the fox weighed her every movement for signs of threat or reverence.
At that moment, the wind shifted, bringing with it a prickling of dread ghosting across Liori’s skin. The forest held its breath, and even the fox’s tails stiffened slightly, as though it too perceived some malevolent presence drifting on the night air. The hair on Liori’s arms rose, and the pulse of her heart intensified. Swallowing her anxiety, she pressed her hands together calmly, summoning every ounce of composure she possessed. Be still, Liori reminded herself. Observe. Understand. The fox’s ears flicked, a subtle acknowledgment of the shifting atmosphere. Perhaps it expected her to act. Perhaps it merely waited to see if she would bolt in fear.
Liori inhaled deeply, letting the resinous scent of pine and damp earth fill her senses. Though her predicament was baffling being transported to an unknown land, confronted by a fox spirit surrounded by arcane wards, she called upon her faith. Priestesses of Elytheris were taught to find equilibrium in chaos, to stand firm in the face of the unknown.
She stood poised, eyes never leaving the silent guardian. Whatever wickedness this breeze carried, she must be ready. And so, with the quiet roil of the stream around her ankles and the fox’s inscrutable gaze upon her, High Priestess Liori Evargloe awaited whatever came next in this strange corner of Ohatsu.
~~~
A mighty king sat upon his crystal throne in a land where golden light perpetually caressed marble spires and sun-kissed courtyards. Slender shafts of sunlight filtered in through tall, arched windows, refracting through etched prisms to scatter dancing rainbows across the polished floors. Atop the dais, the throne itself was alive with prismatic hues, sculpted from living quartz and delicately veined with gold filigree. Despite its ethereal glow, the heavy was the crown, heavy was the seat of authority, heavy with the burden of recent events.
Before Eren knelt a handful of advisors and messengers, their voices hushed and strained. They recounted the disturbing news of the human merchant’s abrupt flight, the strange magic disturbance that had upended The Silver Horizon, the vanishing of several souls, including the young princess, and, most gravely, the loss of the Orb of Astralyth. Eren listened without interruption, his composure as still as cut glass. Yet behind his calm exterior, his mind roiled in a clamor of alarm and anger.
When the final words of the report faded into silence, the messenger bowed deeper, expecting immediate wrath. The king remained motionless. A flicker of emotion – it was unknown if it was pain or worry – touched his face and was gone.
The hall was vast, its high ceiling supported by columns carved to resemble ancient trees, their branches stretching overhead in graceful arcs. At the periphery, handmaidens and guards exchanged worried glances; stewards shifted uneasily on their feet. None dared speak until their king pronounced judgment.
At last, Eren drew a measured breath. He descended the throne’s few steps, each footstep echoing in the cavernous silence. As he reached the base, the retinue of advisors parted to give him space. The king’s voice was low and firm.
“Marshal the Thornbound,” he said, eyes unwavering. “Their vigilance is needed along every stretch of our coastline and beyond.”
A tremor rippled through those assembled. None questioned the order, for the Thornbound were Elytheris’s elite. Yet Eren’s next command weighed heavier still, “I want full knowledge of how these outsiders crossed the Winding Waves. Continue extracting information from the human, kill and revive him endlessly. Just get the job done. And send word to our allies. We cannot afford to remain silent when the Orb is lost.”
The Orb of Astralyth brought a wave of uneasy murmurs. In the light of day, Elytheris gleamed with a divine blessing that many attributed to the Orb’s star-born power. Without it, whispers already circulated about potential disasters of wilting harvests, fading magic, a breach in their eternal light and glory. None dared voice such fears aloud. Yet the king knew. It was like a splinter lodged in his hand, annoying and difficult to extract.
Finally, Eren turned his green gaze upon the bowed messenger. “What of my sister?”
The man swallowed hard. “No sightings, Your Radiance. Our scouts have combed the harbor and every reachable corner nearby. The storm… the magic… it carried them away.”
Eren’s jaw tightened. The memory of his sister’s last words echoed in his mind, but he banished the pang of sorrow that wanted to steal his resolve. Duty guided him, as it always had. He lifted his chin, allowing the glow of Elytheris’s unending sunrise to catch in his cornsilk hair.
“We must find her,” he commanded. “And the Orb. Ready every capable hand. We will not rest until they are returned to Elytheris.”
The king dismissed the assembly, leaving them to scurry and fulfill his commands. In the hush that followed, Eren stepped away from the dais, steadying his breathing. This swirling mix of fear for Ellennara’s safety and a king’s indignation at the violation of Elytheris’s sanctity was brewing inside of him. His heart roared with the need to restore what was lost: to protect his people, to safeguard the monarchy’s relic, and to see his beloved sister safely returned. Though the palace remained serenely illuminated, shadows of worry curled at the edges of his mind.
He closed his eyes, recalling the guidance of the father who’d once occupied that same throne. Eren couldn’t help but hope his father and mother…watched over her. He would not fail Ellennara, nor the realm. The next breath the king drew was firm, fueling the focus that anchored him to this ancient seat of power.
~~~
And then, finally, the last of the ensembled cast assembled by divine hands gathered under a bleak moon casting its wan glow over a graveyard, turning the sprawling rows of tilted headstones into a sea of crooked silhouettes. The remnants of old stone chapels and crypts stood half-collapsed in the distance while sickly brambles clung to every corner. Jagged shards of broken marble angels peered from behind shattered mausoleum doors, their eyeless faces seeming to watch the confrontation. A stale breeze rustled through the overgrown grass, carrying the faint, acrid tang of ancient decay.
In the center of this desolate cemetery, Captain Kali Wyndwisper towered over a blonde-haired man pressed against a crumbling headstone. Her armor reflected faint, golden glimmers of Elytheris’s eternal blessing, dancing on the moss-ridden stone beneath her boots. Any illusions of gentleness had vanished from her face; worry for her kingdom and her missing comrades merged with a cold fury that tightened every muscle in her jaw.
Pinned under the steel toe of her greave, the man known as Riven and Lucius angled his angelic, innocent-looking face up to meet Kali’s glare. His once tidy clothes were now torn and dusty, stained with the musty earth of this forsaken graveyard. The varlet was finally caught and cornered by the Lady Knight. Despite the precariousness of his situation, Lucius summoned a flicker of charm in his orange eyes, the ghost of a devilish grin quivering at his pink-red lips.
“Dear Heart,” Lucius said softly, trying to steady his breathing against the weight of her armor, “perhaps we can find…a more civilized way to talk about this?” He winced as she shifted her foot, digging the metal edges into his side. “I’m just a silly human caught in the crossfire, you see. None of this was my doing. Honest. Promise. Believe me.”
Kali’s longsword glowed, each rune etched into the blade humming with the faint warmth of her homeland’s magic. She stared down at him in seething silence, letting her sword’s golden light accentuate the scorn etched on her face. A part of her wanted to trust no one, least of all this cunning charlatan. “Somehow,” she murmured icily, “I doubt that.”
Lucius managed a half-laugh, though it came out strained. “I’ll admit, my timing’s not the best, Captain,” he said, flicking his gaze over the broken crypts around them. “One moment, everything was going fine. Well, as fine as it could be, and then poof!” He pressed a bruised and pale hand to his chest in a theatrical gesture of shock. “I got whisked away into…this. No orb, no power, nothing. I’m as out of my depth as you.”
Kali’s blood simmered hot. She recalled the frantic scramble after that violent storm of magic. And here lied Lucius, so pitiful with his illusions, lies, more lies, and half-truths. Her eyes brushed over his disheveled appearance, noticing how he carefully concealed any sign of genuine fear behind that mocking smile.
“That’s a convenient story,” she said through gritted teeth. A quick glance took in the deserted headstones leaning like crooked teeth beneath the moonlight and the chipped gargoyles perched on once-holy vaults – her thoughts were thick with dread, matching the heaviness in her chest. The knight had no patience for this charade, her heart pounding faster by the second.
Her blade inched closer to the human, drawing blood from the side of his long throat.
Lucius lifted a brow, clearly straining to maintain composure. “Call it convenient, call it fate,” he said, raising his free hand placatingly. “But truly, I had no intention of being here, least of all with you pressing a blade to my throat. If you let me up, perhaps we can piece together who or what is truly behind all this.” His lip curled with frustration. “Believe me, I’m just as, ah, vexed as you are that the orb’s nowhere to be found.”
“Don’t treat me like a fool,” Kali snapped. She pressed down harder, forcing a yelp from him. The dark lumps of old graves stretching away in rows bore silent witness to her wrath. He was too composed! Too good with words! She recognized in him the hallmark of a cunning manipulator. She refused to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You can’t simply talk your way out of a crime against my homeland.”
The hustler tried a haggard smile, but the shadow of genuine exasperation tightened around his orange-red eyes. “Dear Heart,” he cooed again, “I’d never dream of trifling with your mighty kingdom. I was used, same as you.” His breath hitched when her blade shifted, the runes flickering in warning. “I swear, the real powers at play… we’re just pawns. Pawns with no orb, mind you.”
At that, Kali’s glacial expression cracked enough to reveal raw torment. Everything was in tatters. Her teeth clenched until pain shot through her jaw. He was just a human. A human. He was at most some puppy of twenty or more years only. It could have been true…
“All I know,” Lucius pressed on, voice softer now, “is that we’re stuck in some forsaken graveyard, the orb is gone, and we have bigger threats to worry about than each other. At least for now…”
The wind kicked up, rattling a half-toppled stone angel near them. Kali’s oath-charged blade glowed fiercely in the swirling gloom, its reflection catching the hint of sorrow in her eyes. But she hardened again, refusing to let empathy soften her guard. She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust anyone. She recalled her king’s face, her friends’ faces, her fellow knights, the Orb’s radiant glow, and the moment all had vanished in that explosive storm.
“Don’t spin tales,” Kali hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained rage and worry. “If you’ve any scrap of truth to share, do it. Otherwise…” She trailed off, letting the glint of her sword finish the threat.
Lucius squirmed, clearly in pain yet maintaining that half-smiling defiance. “I’ll cooperate, but it won’t help if you kill me, Captain. We need each other, if only to survive in this… predicament.”
Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance at his words, or perhaps it was just the hollow moan of wind through cracked mausoleum doors. Kali’s heart hammered. She was oath-bound, laden with a duty to protect her homeland. Her every impulse screamed to cut down the liar at her feet but the flicker of uncertainty that maybe, just maybe, he had some answers stayed her hand.
Kali slowly drew her foot back, though not enough to free him entirely. In the lifeless silence of the graveyard, where death lay heavy upon every broken stone, they remained locked in a fragile stalemate: the heart raging knight and the smooth-tongued charlatan, heart pounding.
Who is on the hardest route?
