Screaming, endless screaming, thousands dead and dying. Fire is spreading. The ancient Blackstone walls falling in thunderous crashes to the ground, witches and wolves alike being crushed under them. Smoke choking the sky, the once proud towers no longer standing, the crystal waters filled with blood. All the magic drained from the earth. A figure emerged from the ashes, once the screaming had stopped and there was nothing good left in the world. Her leather armor spotless, her long flowing hair floating in the breeze, her red eyes trained on me, her hands were claws coated in the blood of thousands and onto her head an obsidian crown.
I woke swallowing a scream, the first rays of dawn filtering through the windows of the Inn we had stopped to rest in.
That dream…
I turned in the bed,
