The Misty Ruins And The Lone Swordsman __full__ -
He was bleeding. He was alone. The ruins were still ruins.
He walked past the Hall of a Thousand Lanterns, now a skeletal ribcage of iron and rot. He passed the Fountain of Youth, now a dry well choked with thorns. Each step was a memory of a war he had not won, a friend he had not saved.
He let go.
The Weeping General screamed—a sound of a thousand years collapsing.
Today, he was not running.
The dais was shattered. Vines had strangled the onyx throne. And waiting there, seated upon a fallen pillar, was the —a creature born of the mist and the shame of the fallen dynasty. It wore the rusted armour of the Citadel’s last defender. Its face was a smooth, featureless mask of grey stone, save for two cracks where tears of mercury wept endlessly.
He was bleeding. He was alone. The ruins were still ruins.
He walked past the Hall of a Thousand Lanterns, now a skeletal ribcage of iron and rot. He passed the Fountain of Youth, now a dry well choked with thorns. Each step was a memory of a war he had not won, a friend he had not saved.
He let go.
The Weeping General screamed—a sound of a thousand years collapsing.
Today, he was not running.
The dais was shattered. Vines had strangled the onyx throne. And waiting there, seated upon a fallen pillar, was the —a creature born of the mist and the shame of the fallen dynasty. It wore the rusted armour of the Citadel’s last defender. Its face was a smooth, featureless mask of grey stone, save for two cracks where tears of mercury wept endlessly.
