The robbers fled, stumbling over each other, their leader clutching his mottled hand.
Lita smiled. “The clouds remember.”
The man laughed. “Books don’t make empires. But a weapon that freezes an army in place? The Spanish wrote about it. The ‘Cloud Stitch.’ A fungus that grows in these walls—released by a single sound frequency. Your voice, for example.” temple of the chachapoyan warriors
You cannot copy content of this page