The Cemetery of Swords looked as magnificent as ever. Snow drifted across the frozen plateau in thin veils, settling over the countless blades planted in the earth. Swords of every shape and age stood in rows that stretched farther than the eye could comfortably follow, some polished despite the centuries, others dulled by wind, ice, and time.
Every blade had belonged to someone. Every blade had a name. Some had been planted for those who died in war, some for those who fell protecting their people, and some for men and women whose end came through betrayal within the family itself. Today, another piece of iron would join them.
