The night of the siege, the mist came down like a held breath.
He nodded toward the courtyard, where the bright, beautiful knights lay still beneath the mist. The Archivist looked away. And Kaelen walked back into the rain, gray steel blending into the gray dawn, already forgotten by everyone who had seen him. misarmor
The Brethren swept past him into the Citadel’s great hall, hunting for the Archivist and the relic she guarded. Kaelen waited until the last shadow faded, then moved. Not a charge. Not a battle cry. Just a slow, silent walk into the hall behind them. The night of the siege, the mist came
But Kaelen was already behind the Silent King. His misarmor had brought him to within three paces without a whisper. He could see the back of the creature’s neck, where the porcelain mask met frayed cloth. A sliver of gray, withered flesh. And Kaelen walked back into the rain, gray
“You,” she whispered. “The one they call Misarmor.”
Kaelen wiped his blade on the Silent King’s cloak. “They were half right,” he said. “It’s not the armor that’s mis. It’s the armor they’re wearing.”
The Archivist spat. “It’s not here. I sent it away hours ago.”