Emily Webb

Heir of Hildrith

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. A young man sat at a granite table that stretched the length of an underground cavern, high arched ceilings loomed over head, and all was dark except for the soft glow of an orb that levitated just over his right shoulder. A book lay on the table before him. It was old, the pages crisp, but the words pronounced. A preservation spell saved the book from the deterioration of age. The boy could just barely see the runes hovering over the surface of the pages. Not all who read the book would see such runes, but the boy had Witch blood in his veins.