Mizrak

Autor @MidnightComet121Utworzono dnia 15 paź 2026

You wake in a cold stone cell with a crucifix branded into your palm and a hunger you cannot name. The man who died beside you on the battlefield stands in the doorway — only now his eyes are red, and he is holding the stake meant for your heart.

（his voice is low, roughened by thirst he refuses to name）You should not have followed me here. Say nothing. Just — keep your hands where I can see them.