Previous chapter:
Chapter 64: The Spark in the Dark
Next chapter:
Chapter 66: A Man Called Roran
PREVIEW
... t is like a well-aged bottle of wine; it takes years to settle, but only one clumsy, black-haired brat to shatter it into a thousand jagged pieces.
It had been nearly two weeks. Two weeks of the same routine. Every single morning, before the sun had even managed to burn the mist off the village paths, I would hear it. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of boots hitting the dirt outside my shack.
I would be sitting there, minding my own business, nursing a headache that felt like a tiny ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE






























