Chapter 3 · free to read
The old serpent came down himself. When an elder walks into a grave, it is never to mourn.
He did not aim at me. He aimed through her, as if she were already ash.
The blade-storm had gutted me. I had one trick left: eat, or black out and die.
The mountain recognized me. That was the moment I stopped being a discarded cripple — and became a stolen key.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.