PREVIEW

... tops of Noxshade like a funeral beat, constant and heavy. The skies above remained bruised, clouds churning with something unnatural,

Elias’s boots slid backward, trenching two long scars through the broken street as the Executioner’s sword—taller than most men—ground into his palm.

He should’ve been crushed.

Split open like fruit.

But something had changed.

The glyphs from the scroll still pulsed across his chest, threading through his veins like fire-lac ...

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