Caranic had become used to this position: sort of splayed out on some cold hard ground, covered in dirt and grime and blood, his body fractured with injuries.
It didn’t matter where he was, he would get out of this situation. If only he could get up.
“Get up, Caranic,” the voice inside of his head echoes again. It’s a familiar voice though it’s not his own.
The voice belonging to the one who ...
