Chapter 49 · for subscribers
Every sect on the continent sends its dead swords to a fallow. A broken blade cannot be melted and it cannot be buried, because a spirit that was in it might still be at home, so it is planted in sand and left to the weather, and after a thousand years of that there is nothing in any of them. Nobody had ever been able to explain why the wind through them sounded like a crowd.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.