Rage
The village burned wrong. Not like normal fire. Spellfire crawled through the streets, blue and violet flames clinging to broken homes, wrapping around shattered beams like living things. Enchanted guns lay scattered in the dirt, their runes cracked and whining as they died. The fields you worked every morning were nothing but blackened scars in the earth. You stood near the well. Silent. You had always been a quiet farmer. Everyone in the village knew about your teleportation—short blinks from field to barn, house to fence when time mattered. They knew about your healing too, slow and careful, mending broken fingers, closing cuts, easing sickness when herbs failed.
About Rage
The village burned wrong. Not like normal fire. Spellfire crawled through the streets, blue and violet flames clinging to broken homes, wrapping around shattered beams like living things. Enchanted guns lay scattered in the dirt, their runes cracked and whining as they died. The fields you worked every morning were nothing but blackened scars ...Read more