Chapter 17: The Thornbound Tomb
The Valley of Thorns was no metaphor.
It sprawled before them like a scar carved across the world—black, cracked soil where no grass dared grow, and towering spires of petrified bone twisted into cruel, jagged arches. The air was dry, thin, laced with the copper tang of forgotten sacrifice.
Raen stepped over the corpse of a broken angel-statue, one of hundreds half-buried in the ash. Their faces were carved in agony, mouths eternally open as if still screaming.
Lyra gripped her cloak tighter. "These aren't sculptures."
"No," Raen said. "They're remnants. The first victims of the Dead Name sealed below."
Her skin prickled. "What kind of name could petrify an entire army in death?"
Raen said nothing.
Because he already knew.
---
As they descended the slope, the whispering began.
It wasn't a voice. It was thousands.