The Night Silver City Cried
The night sky shook like it was holding back tears behind the smoke.
The white warhorse came thundering down the hill, fast and furious, its silver mane tearing through the ash-choked wind like a blade of moonlight. On its back, Leon leaned low, his cloak flaring behind him, golden eyes locked on the horizon—burning, broken. Silver City—his city—wasn't sleeping anymore. It wasn't even silent. It was drowning in fire, glowing orange like a candle gripped too tight in a storm.
The skyline that once stood quiet and proud was twisted now. A living nightmare. Towers were being swallowed whole, flames clawing up their sides like something alive, angry. The heavens above were cracked open with smoke—thick, writhing black and red, churning like it had teeth. Every breath stank. Burned wood. Melted stone. Fear.
