PREVIEW
... ker beneath Master Dalgor’s workshop felt ice-cold, yet it was nothing compared to the chill of dread creeping up Dayat’s neck. The room was stifling, illuminated only by a single, flickering mana lamp and the sharp, pungent scent of machine oil. Dayat paced restlessly among piles of scrap metal, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.
"Dol, don’t die on me... don’t get caught..." Dayat muttered repeatedly, like a desperate mantra.
Suddenly, the screech of secret h ...
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE



























