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As he crossed the everdale Wyoming border, he had realized that the rain had been following him all along. Thomas was drenched in water as his suitcase was cracked and his business cards bled.

King Arthur knelt in a crumbling Roman ruin, gripping Excalibur like a shovel. The blade, dulled from years of misuse, scraped against dirt and rocks.

In the Klaxon Asylum, a relic of the old town’s forgotten days, Edgar had learned to accept his place among the dark.

For  a thousand years, Daniel Moon had waited. The room was small, its walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light.