The Weight of the Watchtower
The ruined watchtower brooded against the ridge, its stones scarred by time and war. What had once been a proud sentinel of borderlands was now half-swallowed by ivy and silence. Ravens wheeled above, their cries carried like knives on the wind.
Inside, Lena’s group huddled around a weak fire. The chamber reeked of damp stone and old ash. The flickering flames painted hollow shadows across tired faces. They had survived mercenaries, curses, and poisoned dreams, but survival was no longer enough.
Trust was bleeding.
Edda lay with her wound bandaged, her smile stretched too thin to hide the pain. Lark kept vigil by her side, his eyes haunted by the first man he had killed. Mireya traced runes along the walls, her lips tight, her staff never far.
And Dominic…
