Ballad Singer — The

"Tonight," Elias rasped, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from the floorboards themselves, "we sing of the Iron Queen and the Silk Thief."

The rain in Oakhaven didn’t just fall; it wept, slicking the cobblestones until they shone like obsidian under the amber glow of the lanterns. In the corner of The Rusty Anchor , Elias tuned his lute. He wasn’t a young man anymore—his fingers were knotted like old oak roots—but when he struck the first chord, the rowdy tavern fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The Ballad Singer

That was the new verse. And by tomorrow, Elias would have the words to make it immortal. "Tonight," Elias rasped, his voice a low vibration

Elias was a Ballad Singer, one of the few who still carried the "long-songs"—tales that lasted an hour and held the history of a kingdom in their verses. That was the new verse

For a long minute, no one moved. No one reached for their ale.

A young girl near the hearth stopped mid-sip, her eyes wide. To her, it wasn't just a song; she could see the Iron Queen’s army marching through the firelight. She could smell the ozone of the Thief’s magic.