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The Blind Swordsman.

A tragedy... An abrupt departure... Death... And rebirth. Pain, rage, struggle, and blood honed a sword. A sword sharp enough to sever through reality and reveal what lies beyond. It unveiled something, Or rather, someone, incomprehensible and unprecedented.... A being who seems to weave the threads of fate. Does he truly exist, or is he merely a manifestation of another's will? If he does exist, what purpose does he serve? Is there really a purpose, or is it just another will imposed upon him? If it is another's will, can he defy it? Can he turn his sword against his creator, A being who literally writes his reality? Or will he be consumed by the abyss from which his power flows, Forever lost in the shifting void of his own making?

_Eshwar_ · Realista
Classificações insuficientes
276 Chs

[Illusion]

A few days after the funeral that brought stability to Deron, the world strangely went calm, making its inhabitants feel threatened rather than relieved, since they could tell that it merely was the calm before the storm, as if chaos was imminent.

In the [Dreams Academy].

In a wide luxurious room, adorned with a chandelier, wall mounted candle holders, series of bookshelves, mats, tables, and many more. A ringed foot deep pit could been in the middle of the room, decorated with mats, chairs, and stools with vases decorating them.

In front of that wall window was quite an handsome old man, seated whole gazing at a devilishly charming young man standing in front of him, with a trimmed short stubble beard and a strange pair of glasses.

"I have been waiting for you, Marken" Eadwulf said with a soft smile on his face.

"Eadw-no, Chairman, what were you thinking?" Marken questioned.

"What do you mean?"