RONIN
In his mind’s eye he walked across the barren wasteland surrounding the Spire, the sky as stormy a grey as it had been on the day they had arrived. The black tower was still intact, unbreakable, sealed to the world without, and if Ronin glanced down at himself it would be to the familiar (and yet not) weight of his Storm Guard uniform. The world was a yawning open space, full of possibility, full of stories that hadn’t yet been told. Full of horrors that hadn’t yet been felt or experienced. It was exciting, almost.
The reality, of course, was a different story. Out here it was still pitch dark and screaming with monsters. The stench of blood and smoke clogged the air, and Amalia’s calls shattered the night like breaking glass. And Ronin saw none of it, reacted to none of it; not the hand upon his knee or the questions asked of him. Better that way, Safer.
The reality, of course, was a different story. Out here it was still pitch dark and screaming with monsters. The stench of blood and smoke clogged the air, and Amalia’s calls shattered the night like breaking glass. And Ronin saw none of it, reacted to none of it; not the hand upon his knee or the questions asked of him. Better that way, Safer.
one more wish for you
