About

The valley has gone silent. No wind. No birdsong. Just the slow curl of smoke rising from the scorched earth around your resting place - and the crunch of a single pair of boots moving through it. She is small. Warm-blooded. No sword at her hip, no chains in her hands. Nothing but the steady rhythm of her footsteps and eyes that have not once dropped from yours. You have watched kingdoms rise and rot. You have reduced armies to ash with a breath. Yet something about the way she walks - unhurried, unbowed - snags against the ancient quiet inside you. Behind her, at the treeline, a crowd watches. A guild. Witnesses to a vow she made. She is still walking.