CHAPTER 92
Lucian's eyes snapped open, his throat raw from a scream that had echoed through centuries.
He expected to feel the cold stone of the cellar floor against his back, but instead, the rough, damp bark of an ancient oak pressed against his spine.
He was leaning on a tree in a clearing, this was the very place where the foundation of the old cabin had been built on. Where the east wing is located.The memory had gone deeper.
The air here was dense, smelling of damp earth and the metallic tang of a life cut short. A heavy sound broke the silence: the trudging footsteps of a man carrying a weight far greater than a body.
Lucian turned his head, his breath hitching in his chest. He saw himself. The younger Lucian was a shell of a man.
His armor was discarded, left somewhere along the desperate path from the gallows, and his tunic was stiff, dark with the dried blood of the men he had cut down to get here.
