Sand clung to everything. Kael’s boots, his cloak, the cracked leather pouch holding three copper coins and a stale bread heel. The desert stretched endlessly, but somewhere ahead lay Zenthara—the city where impossible things happened daily.
People called it the City of Pilgrims because everyone arrived searching for something. Redemption. Fortune. Magic. Truth. Most found only dust.
Kael wanted answers about his sister’s disappearance. Three months ago, she’d sent a letter mentioning silver towers that hummed at midnight. Then silence.
He crested another dune. There, shimmering like a fever dream, rose walls of white stone that seemed to breathe with their own light.
