Torchline’s sun hung like a molten coin overhead, bleaching the clouds to bone and burning down upon the sand with no mercy. The waves rolled lazily against the shore, too languid to be threatening, too rhythmic to be soothing. Even the wind seemed to retreat, hiding in the shade where it could watch what unfolded next.
Because the man who arrived wasn’t meant for sunlight.
Dorian appeared as though carved from shadow, his presence unfolding across the sand without sound or spectacle. One moment the shoreline was empty. The next, he stood there, his dark clothes immaculate despite the heat, his hands clasped neatly behind his back like a man out for a stroll in a museum. But the air around him buckled faintly, like it knew to flinch.
Behind him, the tide whispered secrets it didn’t understand.
Ahead, a handful of soldiers—those foolish or unlucky enough to be assigned this stretch of shoreline—stared at him like he might fracture the air again at any moment. None dared lift their weapons. Not yet.
He regarded them with the stillness of a blade in its sheath. "Bring me the Tidebreaker," he said, softly. A pause. Polite. Controlled. Then his voice sharpened—not louder, but deeper, a scalpel slipping into flesh. "Now."
Because the man who arrived wasn’t meant for sunlight.
Dorian appeared as though carved from shadow, his presence unfolding across the sand without sound or spectacle. One moment the shoreline was empty. The next, he stood there, his dark clothes immaculate despite the heat, his hands clasped neatly behind his back like a man out for a stroll in a museum. But the air around him buckled faintly, like it knew to flinch.
Behind him, the tide whispered secrets it didn’t understand.
Ahead, a handful of soldiers—those foolish or unlucky enough to be assigned this stretch of shoreline—stared at him like he might fracture the air again at any moment. None dared lift their weapons. Not yet.
He regarded them with the stillness of a blade in its sheath. "Bring me the Tidebreaker," he said, softly. A pause. Polite. Controlled. Then his voice sharpened—not louder, but deeper, a scalpel slipping into flesh. "Now."
He'll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
it took you a lifetime to destroy
