Chapter 211

 

"There are so many more stories held in a fugitive's fleeing soles than the diaries of a nomadic wayfarer."

~

Michavel's Residential Cottage,

The City of Descandville,

The Kingdom of Hyll-Decanta,

Darkling heart of the Night,

Second Tuesday of the Second month,

Fiftieth Year of the Reign of King Adon Vericus IV

 

The Under-ground, the whips of dark steam, the Death Chamber, the man of large wings, hooded countenance and a large scythe, his family's final parting glances, the sound of their screams still ringing in his ears: all of these spiralled into his being as Aldric woke up with a start.

He blinked.

Once, twice, it changed nothing. It was just utter darkness that held sovereignty over all that was his sight's conquest.