The ruined library groaned with every gust of wind, its skeletal walls whispering the last breaths of stories long forgotten. Rhok stood still for a moment, just inside the doorway, watching as motes of dust danced like spirits in the light that pierced through shattered stained glass. Behind him, the blind girl, Fenya sat cross legged on the worn floor, her head tilted toward the wind as if she could hear something no one else could. Maybe she could. Maybe that’s what being blind did, made you better at sensing ghosts.But Rhok wasn’t here for ghosts. He wasn’t even here for knowledge. Not really. He told himself he was searching for answers, maybe a map, maybe just…something. Something other than the silence that had nested in his chest like a dying bird.He walked deeper into the library, his boots cracking over splintered floorboards and fallen books, all bloated and yellow from the rain that had kissed them over the years. He passed shelves that had collapsed like broken ribs. Ev

The scrolls had been sitting untouched for weeks.Dian hadn’t known what to do with them when Liora first placed them in his hands. She hadn’t said much at the time, just that they were sacred, stolen from the heart of a temple long abandoned and half swallowed by the earth. But there had been something in her eyes when she passed them to him. Not fear. Not hope either. More like… urgency. As if the scrolls had a timer inside them, and she’d be damned if they went off in the wrong hands.Dian had taken them without question. That’s what he always did with her.Now, he sat cross-legged in a broken tower, half eaten by vines and silence, his fingers tracing faded ink. Outside, the sun had long since died behind the clouds. The world beyond was shrouded in fog, thick and cold. The perfect setting for bad news.The scrolls were divine, no doubt. They weren’t written in a known language. Not quite. Some words were in Celestial. Others in something older. And in between were drawings, delic

The wind howled through the dead trees like a mother wailing over lost children. Snow, soft and unbothered, blanketed the path before Rhok’s boots. The frost bit at his fingers through worn gloves, and his breath steamed from his mouth like a ghost trying to escape his lungs. He hadn’t spoken in days. Not a word. Not a grunt. Nothing. The silence suited him—less noise to distract from the constant ache in his soul.But something strange tugged at him.A pull.A whisper without a mouth.He followed it until the trees thinned out, revealing an otherworldly sight.A lake, perfectly still, unnaturally still spread out before him. It wasn’t frozen in the normal way; no wind brushed its surface, no snow dared to settle. It was like time itself had taken a break here. And inside that glossy glass-like water were people.Hundreds.Maybe thousands.Men, women, children. All of them floating, suspended just beneath the surface. Their eyes were wide in terror. Mouths open mid-scream. A whole vil

The night was humid, thick with the scent of moss and dew, and Liora moved like a shadow through the trees. Her boots barely touched the undergrowth as she darted between roots and thorns, a stolen scroll clutched to her chest like a guilty prayer. The temple’s alarm had been quiet, almost too quiet. She’d expected bells. Screams and a chase.Instead, she felt a presence.She was not alone.Her breathing quickened. She didn’t dare stop. Not yet. Not until she was sure she’d lost whoever it was trailing her. The scroll she had stolen wasn’t just scripture or some dusty prophecy. It was a chart of the Church’s inner sanctum, names, relic locations, saint movements. Sensitive information that could cripple their war machine if given to the right hands.And yet.There was a sound behind her. The rustle of leaves, too sharp to be an animal. Someone was close. Too close.She whirled around.A man stepped from the shadows, dressed in the pale robes of the Church’s lesser clergy, his armor sh

Dian had always been the quiet one.In the group, he rarely spoke unless he had to. He didn’t carry a blade like Rhok or walk with shadows like Liora. He didn’t inspire people with strength. But he listened. He paid attention. And in this world, full of fire and gods and death, that was more dangerous than a sword.The scrolls Liora had stolen were still scattered across the old chapel floor, lit by candlelight and smoke. Dust gathered in the corners. The wind outside whistled like a ghost trying to get in. Dian sat cross-legged with a piece of charcoal in one hand and a map rolled open before him.“Children of the Nameless…” he murmured again, testing the words in his mouth.It had started as a passing thought. A joke, even. But now, the name echoed in his chest like thunder waiting to strike.The world was burning. Towns were being cleansed in the name of purity. Heretics were slaughtered by Varn’s holy flames, and the Church’s boot pressed down on the necks of anyone who dared brea