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The Spellweaver
Category: Fantasy
The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
A knock at the door changed everything.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The fire had burned down to embers, but neither of them moved to stoke it.
He had been waiting for her for what felt like an eternity.
He stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the waves crashing below.
A cold wind swept across the plain, carrying with it the scent of distant rain.
The end.