The sky cracked open above Valedor, and I tore my memory from my chest like a wound that would never stop bleeding.
Ash fell like snow, cloaking the dead. Magic scorched the horizon, a white fire burning too bright to bear. Screams twisted through the wind-some still living, most not.
And in the center of it all, bleeding out in my arms, was Kael Arren, commander of the Oathbearers and the only friend I had left.
His armor was shattered. His breath came shallow. His hands trembled as they clutched a blood-soaked letter. "Take it," he rasped. "Find her."
I didn't want the letter. I didn't want this moment. But war doesn't ask what you want
I took it.
"She's... she's only a girl," Kael said. "The last of House Arren. They'll come for her. They'll silence the bloodline for good."
"And what do you want me to do?" I asked, even though I already knew. Even though I felt the familiar pull of old, forbidden magic curling in my ribs like a blade waiting to be drawn.
Autorentext
Claire Smith is a fiction and non fiction writer, and also tells true life stories of events and things that had happened and no one had spoken about it. She's very creative and industrious.
Tune in for more stories as these as they unfold.