Chapter 6 · free to read
Ten thousand children of a drowned god, pouring into one mortal boy who had never held more than a broom.
A cup can be filled and emptied and filled again. A hole only ever takes.
For the first time since her forging, the discarded sword-spirit was not flickering out — she was filling in.
The eye that had hung over the sect like a second moon went out. It should have felt like winning.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.