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Chapter 320: THE SACRED VOWS PT 2
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... thedral had shifted. It was no longer the heavy, expectant quiet of a tomb, but a living, vibrating hum of shared history.
Two attendants stepped forward, bearing an ornate chalice carved from a single block of eternal ice. It did not melt; it did not sweat. Within it sloshed Winter’s Draught, a mead so pale it was almost clear, infused with frost-herbs that had never seen the sun.
Soren took the cup first. His hands, though large and steady, moved with a reverence that bordered ...
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