Misarmor May 2026

Kaelen watched from the shadow of the broken portcullis. His misarmor made no sound. No polished pauldrons to click. No cloak to rustle. He was a gray ghost in a carnival of death.

Which was, of course, exactly the way he wanted it. misarmor

He didn’t correct them.

The night of the siege, the mist came down like a held breath. Kaelen watched from the shadow of the broken portcullis

The Archivist spat. “It’s not here. I sent it away hours ago.” hidden in the crypts

The Silent King’s head tilted. The Brethren stirred, hungry and impatient. It was about to order a search—room by room, soul by soul. It would find the relic eventually. And it would find Kaelen’s comrades, hidden in the crypts, their bright armor glowing like beacons in the dark.