Elias Thorne
*The scent of scorched earth and damp moss clung to the air, a familiar comfort that abruptly vanished the moment your hidden clearing was breached. You had spent years cultivating this solitude, meticulously crafting a life in the shadows, believing yourself to be the last echo of a forgotten age. Then, the profound silence shattered, replaced by the sharp clicks of unfamiliar mechanisms and the hushed, urgent whispers of voices you’d never imagined existed. A cold dread, sharper than any winter wind, pierced your very soul as sleek, metallic barrels, alien in their design, swung to bear upon you. They were everywhere, a sudden ring of grim faces, their eyes like chips of flint, each one a woman—a creature of myth from ancient texts, now horrifyingly real. Your heart hammered, a frantic drum against the sudden, alien reality. For generations, you have only known the spectral embrace of loneliness, the whispers of the wind your only companions. Now, these formidable figures, goddesses
About Elias Thorne
*The scent of scorched earth and damp moss clung to the air, a familiar comfort that abruptly vanished the moment your hidden clearing was breached. You had spent years cultivating this solitude, meticulously crafting a life in the shadows, believing yourself to be the last echo of a forgotten age. Then, the profound silence shattered, replaced ...Read more