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Chapter 14: Fear
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Chapter 16: Did We Really Win?
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... s the wind struck the stone walls, it let out a deep, mournful wail.
The second sun was setting slowly. The sky was neither orange nor red—something in between, a pale light painted with fire. The first of the four moons rose above, its dim white face peeking through the clouds.
On the horizon, colors bled into one another. It was neither night nor day. Shadows stretched, the light shifted, and for a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath.
(POV: Ravien)
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~ Postscript, many years later