There is a citadel in a town on the outer fringes of the Empire, a town so small that most maps neglect to mark it. This citadel was old and crumbly, and part of its floor had collapsed into a shallow pit, but the town’s kids didn’t care. They didn’t know the citadel’s history. They didn’t know its purpose. Most didn’t even know what it was. To them, it was just a towering, beautiful playground. Their parents had warned them to stay away from it—it might be dangerous, you don’t know what’s in there! But the kids didn’t care—the place’s nigh infinite mysteries and dangers only added to the its appeal. It was the first day of winter, and though the sun was bright without a cloud in the sky, a light wind with a cold nip whisked through the town. The children were playing in the field where the horses grazed, while the adults went about their daily business—cooking, building, training, watching. It was the kids who saw them first. Off in the distance, at the fine line between land...