Tianlang-Jun rests his eyes shut as the child he sired (but didn't father) paces the room like a caged beast. The instability of his qi is palpable; the sword he wields twists and makes tangles of the weft of it. A waste. A pity.
Tianlang-Jun rests his eyes shut as the child he sired (but didn't father) paces the room like a caged beast. The instability of his qi is palpable; the sword he wields twists and makes tangles of the weft of it. A waste. A pity.