PREVIEW
... urning.
In the early days, during her first regressions, it had repulsed her. That bittersweet reek of charred wood, seared flesh, and smoldering metal.
Now, it clung to her armor, her cloak, her very breath. She no longer flinched when smoke stung her eyes or when the screams of dying allies echoed too close.
She simply moved, fought, lived.
She had chosen to live, to move forward, after all.
Until the light came.
At first, she thought it was just ...
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Author’s Afterword
