Chapter 10: The General Who Wept
The soil beyond the Bleeding Marshes no longer bled.
It screamed.
Raen stepped lightly, his boots sinking into the ground like it breathed. Faces swelled beneath the mud—flesh not rotting, but remembering. Eyes opened, then closed. Hands reached, then gave up. Memory lingered in every shadow here.
"Do you feel that?" Lyra asked.
Her voice was thin, as though the land siphoned strength from every word.
Raen didn't answer. He couldn't.
This place—the Hollow Vale—was not marked on any map. It was the land that time refused, where traitors were buried without names, and Godmarked soldiers were rumored to feast on nightmares. Raen's fingers twitched against the hilt of Mournfang.
He felt the presence.
Watching.
Mocking.
Breathing.