Aldric
The White Waste stretched out before me like a graveyard of dead kings.
Endless. Frozen. Broken.
A place the world forgot—where only the damned held on.
I moved through it with blood crusted in my fur, with vengeance burning hotter than the winds cutting into my bones. Every step away from Castleburg, from Edward’s ruined corpse, was a step closer to madness.
And maybe madness was better.
Madness had purpose.
Grief didn’t.
At the edge of the frozen cliffs, I saw the first signs of life: bone-fences sharpened into spears, ruined towers, shacks built from the remains of old wars.
This was the White Waste.
If I was going to rebuild—no, conquer it, I would start here. Among the monsters who had nothing left to lose.
I shifted into human form as I approached the gate, my cloak
