William wrote by candlelight.
The words came slowly at first—clumsy, awkward, wrong. He had never been a writer. He had been a fighter, a survivor, a leader. But Elara was right. Someone needed to tell the truth.
He began with his mother.
Her name was Mira Draven. She was born in the Spire, the daughter of a Councilor. She could have lived a life of ease. Instead, she chose to fight.
The words flowed easier after that.
He wrote about the Saint. The Rust. The Council. The rebellion. He wrote about Thomas, who died because a sword moved on its own. He wrote about the Hound, who gave everything to train him. He wrote about Julian, who lost his mother's face. He wrote about Elara, who taught him how to heal.
He wrote about himself.
My name is William Draven. I am the son of a Sword and
