“No one in this book can pass through the Shell, you hear me Toftin?” he said, referring to the all-surrounding white walls of Inoria.
Fifty seasons had passed since the end of The Sunder. Memories of the long civil war twisted my dreams into horrid shapes, until I only slept a few hours a night. The memories were part of me, though my old body and mind refused to accept them.
A terrible sense of unease took hold of her, and she assumed the worst had happened down below. They were too late.
You kept telling yourself that you were a force of good for the world... what a mess you made.
The Prince furrowed his brow, “Come out, whoever you are! Who hides in the shadows of trees?" An arrow whistled through the air...
The temple desperately needed coin from the brother to the King. The monks baked a special bread for his pleasure, but instead of magic bread, the temple only had a sorry story of how a little girl ran off with the most expensive bread in the entire kingdom.
I couldn’t get much sleep last night. Today’s the day—my fate, my future, it all rests on the next following few moments. Here goes nothing.
Listen, there’s something you need to know about the First Gods...
This is the stuff of dreams. The drink of gods, the enabler of magic, and the driving force of our civilization, all distilled in small but sturdy glass vials on a moon forty-seven light-years from our home
Nothing makes a forty-seven light-year journey more exciting than an explosion in a backup vessal.