Night had fallen over the Valley of Spirits, and the sky was drenched in blackness. Kiron knelt at the foot of the Exiled Mountain, pressing his hand against the searing earth. The ground breathed—whispering ghosts of the past in every tremble. “The shadows are watching you, Kiron…” the voice inside him murmured. “But you're no longer just a witness. You are becoming the master of shadows.” By his side stood Belis, her eyes locked onto the horizon where wind carried the scent of ash and ruin. Prince Lorven’s treacherous army was drawing near. Around the Sacred Mountain, the forces of darkness no longer hid — they marched. “Time is running out,” Belis said. “If the final scroll of the Book of Light is captured… the world may never wake again.” Kiron bowed his head. The wound in his hand still bled, not just blood—but something deeper. During the Dark Magic Circle ritual from Chapter 6, one of Zahadran’s cursed arrows had pierced his very essence. Now, with every heartbeat, the shado...
Ben Ayseb. Tahtımı kelimelerle kurdum, kılıcımı kalemden seçtim. “Kurşunkalem” sadece bir isim değil, içimde taşıdığım düşüncelerin, duyguların ve karanlıkla parlayan fikirlerin yansıması. Her hikâyede, her satırda kendimi arıyorum… bazen buluyorum, bazen daha da kayboluyorum. Yazmak benim için bir kaçış değil, bir fısıltı. Kimi zaman içimdeki sessiz kral konuşur, kimi zaman yaralı bir çocuk. Ama her zaman tek bir kişi yazar: Ayseb. Beni kelimelerle tanı, çünkü en gerçek hâlim orada.