Damien
The mountain stretched wide and white beneath a sky the color of cold iron, and as we rode along the snow-clad trail, the silence was so deep it seemed to hum against my skin, broken only by the muted thud of hooves and the creak of leather. My stallion’s breath fogged the air in steady bursts, each plume vanishing into the wind that carried the sharp sting of pine resin and distant frost, and I kept my head turned toward the ridges, scenting for more than the clean bite of winter.
Blood. Smoke. Anything that did not belong.
Rumors were like rot, they began in shadows and spread until they consumed whatever walls were built to hold them back—and these whispers of rogues had teeth. I would not trust another to confirm them. Not now. Not when the keep was already bleeding from with
