WHEN DRAGON BLEED

Volume I — The Price of Bread

Chapter 1 — The Price of Bread

Winter had no mercy for the poor.

It did not care whether a man had children.

It did not care whether an old woman had spent forty years working the same field.

It did not care whether a family had once owned land, or whether their house had stood in the village for generations.

Winter came.

It took the crops.

Then the animals.

Then the firewood.

And finally, when there was nothing else left, it took people.

In the village of Rensar, the snow had covered the fields for three weeks.

Ten-year-old Kael stood at the edge of one of them, staring at the white ground.

He remembered what the field looked like in summer.

Green.

Warm.

Full of wheat.

His father had once told him that the field could feed the village if the harvest was good.

This year, the harvest had been terrible.

Kael kicked the snow.

Nothing happened.

He kicked it again.

Still nothing.

Behind him, a small voice called his name.

"Kael!"

He turned.

His sister Mira was standing beside their house.

She was eight years old and wearing a coat that had belonged to their mother when she was young.

The sleeves were too long.

Mira had tied them around her wrists with pieces of string.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Looking."

"At snow?"

"At the field."

"There's nothing there."

"I know."

"Then why are you looking?"

Kael shrugged.

"Maybe something will appear."

Mira stared at him.

"You're strange."

"So you keep telling me."

She walked toward him.

"Mother says come inside."

"Why?"

"She made soup."

Kael looked toward their house.

"Real soup?"

Mira hesitated.

"Yes."

Kael narrowed his eyes.

"What's in it?"

"Water."

He laughed.

Mira smiled.

For a moment, neither of them felt hungry.

Then Kael's stomach growled.

Mira looked at him.

"That was loud."

"It wasn't me."

"It was."

"The snow made that sound."

"The snow doesn't have a stomach."

Kael sighed.

"You know everything."

"I know more than you."

They walked home together.

Their house was small.

One room for sleeping.

One room for everything else.

A fireplace stood against the far wall.

There was no fire in it.

Their mother, Elara, stood over a pot.

Their father, Tomas, sat at the table.

He was staring at four copper coins.

Kael stopped.

His eyes went immediately to the table.

Four coins.

That was all.

He had been counting their money for weeks.

He knew exactly how much they had.

"Father?"

Tomas looked up.

"You're back."

"Where did you get those?"

His father closed his hand around the coins.

"Work."

"Where?"

"At the mill."

"How much?"

"Two coins."

Kael looked at the four coins again.

"Then there were already two."

His father smiled faintly.

"You count too much."

"We need to."

His father didn't answer.

Kael looked at the pot.

"What's for dinner?"

His mother turned around.

"Potatoes."

"How many?"

"Kael."

"How many?"

His mother sighed.

"Three."

Kael looked at the four people in the room.

Three potatoes.

Four people.

Mira climbed onto the bench.

"Maybe I'm not hungry."

Kael immediately said, "You are."

"No."

"You always are."

"Not today."

"You're lying."

"So are you."

Kael smiled.

Their mother looked at both children.

"Enough."

They became quiet.

She placed the pot on the table.

Three potatoes floated in hot water.

No meat.

No vegetables.

No salt.

Kael stared at it.

His father lowered his head.

Nobody complained.

That was the worst part.

They had become used to it.

That night, Kael woke to voices.

His parents were speaking quietly.

He kept his eyes closed.

"We can't continue."

His mother's voice.

"I know."

"The landlord came again."

"I know."

"He said he'll take the house."

"I know."

"Then what will we do?"

Silence.

Kael heard his father breathe.

"I'll find work."

"You've been saying that for a month."

"I'll find something."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Then tell me the truth."

Another silence.

Kael's heart began beating faster.

"What truth?" his father whispered.

"That we're finished."

His mother began crying.

Kael opened his eyes slightly.

The room was dark.

His father was sitting beside the fireplace.

His shoulders looked smaller than they had yesterday.

Smaller than they had last year.

"We still have the children," Tomas said.

His mother answered:

"Exactly."

Kael closed his eyes again.

He didn't understand why those words frightened him.

Not yet.

The next morning, Kael went to the market.

The market had once been noisy.

Now it was mostly empty.

A grain merchant from the southern provinces had arrived with several wagons.

People surrounded him.

They begged.

They argued.

They offered coins.

The merchant refused most of them.

Kael watched from a distance.

A woman stood before the merchant holding a baby.

"I can pay after spring."

"No."

"My husband will work."

"Everyone says that."

"Please."

The merchant pointed toward the road.

"Go."

The woman lowered her head.

Kael watched her leave.

Then he looked at the grain.

Sacks.

Rows of them.

More food than his village had seen in months.

He walked closer.

The merchant noticed him.

"You."

Kael stopped.

"Yes?"

"You buying?"

Kael reached into his pocket.

Two copper coins.

The merchant looked at them.

Then laughed.

"What can I buy with that?"

"A loaf?"

"No."

"Half?"

"No."

Kael looked at the sacks.

"How much for one?"

"Three silver."

Kael frowned.

"Last year it was one."

"Last year was last year."

"Why?"

The merchant leaned closer.

"Because there isn't enough."

Kael looked at the wagons.

There were fourteen sacks visible.

He looked behind the merchant.

More.

"There's enough here."

The merchant's smile disappeared.

"Go home."

Kael didn't move.

"People are hungry."

"Not my problem."

Kael looked at him.

"Then what is your problem?"

The merchant laughed.

"Making money."

Kael turned away.

He didn't say anything else.

But he remembered the man's face.

When Kael returned home, there was a wagon outside.

A large wagon.

Two horses.

Two armed guards.

And a man wearing a fur coat standing beside his father.

Kael stopped walking.

His mother was crying.

Mira stood beside her.

Kael looked at his father.

"Who is he?"

His father didn't answer.

The man in the fur coat did.

"My name is Halvek."

Kael didn't like him.

Halvek smiled.

"You must be Kael."

Kael looked at his father again.

"Why is he here?"

Tomas stepped toward him.

"Come inside."

"No."

"Kael."

"Why is he here?"

His father looked at the ground.

Halvek reached inside his coat.

Coins jingled.

Kael heard them.

He looked at his father's hands.

Then at Halvek.

Then at the wagon.

His stomach tightened.

"No."

His father froze.

Kael took a step backward.

"No."

"Kael..."

"You sold me."

His mother covered her face.

Mira began crying.

Tomas whispered:

"We have no food."

"Then sell the house."

"We'll have nowhere to live."

"Sell the land."

"We owe the landlord."

"Then sell something else!"

"There is nothing else."

Kael stared at him.

"There is always something."

His father couldn't answer.

Halvek sighed.

"I have work for him."

Kael looked at the merchant.

"What kind?"

"Labor."

"How long?"

Halvek smiled.

"Until your debt is paid."

"What debt?"

Halvek glanced at Tomas.

"Your father's."

Kael looked at his father.

"You owe him?"

"No."

Halvek corrected him.

"Your father owes the miller. The miller owes me. Your father cannot pay the miller. So I am solving the problem."

Kael understood.

He looked at the coins.

Ten silver.

His life had a price.

Ten silver.

Mira grabbed his arm.

"Don't go."

Kael looked at her.

He wanted to say he wouldn't.

He wanted to promise he would come back tomorrow.

But something inside him knew that would be a lie.

A guard seized his shoulder.

Kael fought.

"LET GO!"

He kicked.

The guard barely moved.

Kael bit his hand.

The guard cursed.

His mother screamed.

Mira screamed his name.

Kael twisted around.

His eyes found his father's.

"Stop them!"

Tomas didn't move.

"Father!"

Nothing.

Kael's struggle slowed.

The guard dragged him toward the wagon.

Kael stared at his father.

"You sold me."

His father began crying.

Kael's voice became cold.

"I'll never forgive you."

The wagon door opened.

Kael was thrown inside.

The door slammed shut.

For the first hour, he screamed.

For the second, he cried.

By the third, there were no tears left.

The wagon carried him north.

The village disappeared.

The fields disappeared.

The road became a narrow path through the forest.

Across from Kael sat an old man with gray hair and scarred wrists.

He had been watching the boy.

"First time?" he asked.

Kael didn't answer.

The old man nodded.

"Thought so."

"Where are we going?"

"Slave camp."

Kael looked at him.

"How do you know?"

The old man raised his wrists.

"Experience."

Kael stared at the scars.

"How long?"

"Twenty-two years."

Kael's eyes widened.

"You've been a slave for twenty-two years?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't you escaped?"

The old man smiled without humor.

"I tried."

"What happened?"

"They caught me."

Kael looked toward the wooden bars.

"What happens there?"

The old man studied him.

"You work."

"And if I don't?"

"You work."

Kael understood.

The old man sighed.

"What's your name?"

"Kael."

"Mine is Orven."

Kael nodded.

Then he looked through the bars.

Mountains appeared in the distance.

Huge.

White.

Untouched.

His eyes remained on them.

Orven followed his gaze.

"Don't."

Kael looked at him.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

Kael turned back toward the mountains.

"I wasn't thinking anything."

Orven smiled.

"That's the first lie everyone tells."

The wagon continued north.

Kael said nothing.

But he watched the road.

He watched the guards.

He watched the locks.

He watched the horses.

He watched everything.

And for the first time since leaving Rensar, the fear inside him began changing into something else.

Not hope.

Not yet.

Something harder.

Something colder.

A decision.

Kael would survive.

And someday, somehow, he would return.

Not as the boy they had sold for ten silver.

But as someone they could never sell again.

Far beyond the mountains, something waited beneath a sky no human had ever conquered.

And Kael had no idea that his life had already begun moving toward it.

WHEN DRAGON BLEED

Volume I — The Price of Bread

Chapter 2 — A Kingdom Without Hunger

The bells of Lyria rang seven times before sunrise.

Princess Elayne was already awake.

She stood beside the eastern window of her chamber, watching the first light spread across the kingdom.

Lyria did not look like Vareon.

There were no empty fields near the capital.

No starving crowds gathered outside grain merchants.

No children searched through frozen mud for roots.

The streets below were clean.

Smoke rose from hundreds of chimneys.

Carriages moved between the markets.

Bakery ovens had been burning since before dawn.

A line of workers carried sacks of wheat toward the royal granaries.

Elayne watched them carefully.

Behind her, a servant placed a cup of warm milk on the table.

"Your Highness."

Elayne didn't turn.

"How many?"

The servant paused.

"How many what?"

"Grain wagons."

"Forty-two arrived yesterday."

"From where?"

"Elandor."

"How many today?"

"Twenty-six, Your Highness."

Elayne nodded.

"And the northern roads?"

"Open."

"The western roads?"

"Two are blocked by snow."

"How long?"

"Perhaps three days."

Elayne finally turned.

"Three days is enough to lose a village."

The servant lowered her head.

"I'll tell the road master."

"Don't tell him."

Elayne walked toward the table.

"Send someone."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"And take food."

The servant hesitated.

"Food?"

"To the workers."

"Of course."

Elayne picked up the cup.

"People work better when they're fed."

The servant smiled.

"Your Highness thinks like a soldier."

Elayne looked at her.

"No."

She took a sip.

"I think like someone who doesn't want soldiers dying because someone forgot to feed them."

Lyria was different from the kingdoms surrounding it.

At least, that was what people liked to believe.

The kingdom had good harvests.

Its rivers were wide.

Its roads were maintained.

Its nobles were wealthy.

Its army was disciplined.

Its cities were growing.

And its people had enough food.

But Elayne had learned something from her father.

A kingdom was never truly safe.

It was only safe for now.

She entered the royal council chamber shortly after sunrise.

She was seventeen years old.

The youngest person at the table by more than twenty years.

That was precisely why most of the men in the room disliked seeing her there.

Her father, King Aldren, sat at the head of the table.

Beside him stood the commander of Lyria's armies, Lord Cassian Veyr.

Cassian was fifty-two.

He had fought three wars.

Lost one.

Won two.

And considered every battle a lesson rather than a victory.

Elayne respected him.

She also knew he did not trust her.

"You're late," Cassian said.

Elayne pulled out a chair.

"I'm early."

The general glanced toward the clock.

"The meeting began five minutes ago."

"The meeting was scheduled for sunrise."

"It is after sunrise."

"Then your clock is slow."

A few councilors hid smiles.

Cassian stared at her.

King Aldren sighed.

"Enough."

Elayne sat.

"What are we discussing?"

Cassian placed a map on the table.

"Vareon."

The room became quieter.

Elayne looked down.

The map showed Lyria and its neighboring kingdoms.

To the west was Vareon.

Large.

Populous.

Rich in iron.

And increasingly unstable.

"Another rebellion?" Elayne asked.

"Not exactly."

Cassian pointed toward the northern provinces.

"Three villages failed to deliver their winter taxes."

"Because?"

"Famine."

Elayne frowned.

"Vareon had a poor harvest?"

"Yes."

"How poor?"

"Bad enough that the northern roads are filled with refugees."

Elayne looked at the map.

"How many?"

"We don't know."

"You don't know?"

Cassian shook his head.

"Vareon is refusing entry."

"Why?"

"Because admitting refugees means admitting the famine exists."

Elayne leaned back.

"How many people can they lose before the king admits it?"

Cassian didn't answer.

A councilor spoke.

"That is a Vareon problem."

Elayne looked at him.

"No."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Your Highness?"

"A starving neighbor becomes our problem eventually."

The councilor laughed.

"We cannot feed another kingdom."

"I'm not asking us to."

Elayne pointed toward the map.

"People don't stay where there is no food. They'll move."

"Then we close the border."

"And what happens when ten thousand people reach it?"

"We stop them."

"With soldiers?"

"Yes."

Elayne looked toward Cassian.

The general remained silent.

She knew why.

Because he understood.

Ten thousand starving people were not an army.

But if you trapped them against a border long enough...

They might become one.

Or worse.

They might become desperate.

Elayne looked back at the map.

"Send grain."

The councilor immediately objected.

"Your Highness—"

"Not enough to feed Vareon."

She pointed toward three border towns.

"Enough to keep these towns stable."

Cassian finally spoke.

"That will cost us."

"Yes."

"Gold."

"Yes."

"Grain."

"Yes."

"Political influence."

Elayne looked at him.

"That's why we're doing it."

Cassian studied her.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.

"Perhaps you do think like a soldier."

Elayne smiled back.

"No."

She looked at the map.

"I think like a princess."

After the meeting, Elayne walked through the palace gardens.

Her younger brother, Prince Tomas, was practicing with a wooden sword.

He was fourteen.

He swung at a training dummy.

Missed.

Swung again.

Missed.

Elayne watched.

"You'll defeat it eventually."

Tomas turned.

"You came to mock me?"

"I came to watch."

"That's worse."

He attacked the dummy again.

This time he struck it.

He smiled proudly.

"See?"

Elayne applauded.

"Terrifying."

"You're annoying."

"So Father says."

Tomas lowered the sword.

"Did they talk about Vareon?"

"Yes."

"Are they going to war?"

"No."

"Yet."

Elayne looked at him.

He was watching her carefully.

"You've been listening."

"Everyone listens."

"That's dangerous."

"You're the one who taught me."

Elayne smiled.

Her brother was clever.

Too clever sometimes.

She looked beyond him toward the palace walls.

"What do you know about Vareon?"

"That they hate us."

"Why?"

"They think Lyria is arrogant."

"Are we?"

Tomas shrugged.

"Probably."

Elayne laughed.

Then her expression changed.

"Do you know what happened there?"

"The famine?"

"Yes."

"People are hungry."

"People are always hungry somewhere."

Elayne looked at him.

"That's not the answer."

Tomas lowered his sword.

"Then what is?"

Elayne didn't know.

Not yet.

That evening, a messenger arrived.

He had ridden from the western border.

His horse was exhausted.

His clothes were covered in mud.

He was brought directly to the king.

Elayne happened to be there.

The messenger bowed.

"Your Majesty."

King Aldren stood.

"Speak."

The man swallowed.

"There are more refugees."

"How many?"

"We don't know."

"Estimate."

"Five thousand."

The king's face hardened.

"From where?"

"Vareon."

Elayne looked at Cassian.

The general's expression had changed.

"Five thousand?" he asked.

"At least."

"How many are armed?"

"Some."

"How many?"

The messenger hesitated.

"Three hundred."

Silence.

King Aldren looked toward the map.

"Three hundred soldiers among five thousand refugees."

Cassian nodded.

"They're not refugees anymore."

Elayne stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

The general pointed at the western border.

"If Vareon cannot feed them, they'll try to cross."

"And if we stop them?"

"They'll fight."

Elayne felt something cold settle in her stomach.

Not fear.

Recognition.

A kingdom could collapse long before its capital fell.

Sometimes all it took was hunger.

Her father turned toward her.

"Elayne."

"Yes?"

"What would you do?"

Everyone in the room looked at her.

She studied the map.

Then she pointed toward a narrow river crossing.

"Open the border here."

Cassian frowned.

"Why?"

"Because if we don't, they'll attack somewhere else."

"And let five thousand people enter?"

"No."

Elayne's finger moved across the map.

"Let the civilians enter."

Then toward another location.

"Separate the soldiers."

Cassian's eyes narrowed.

"Disarm them."

"Yes."

"And if they refuse?"

Elayne looked at him.

"Then we have a battle."

The room fell silent.

Elayne looked again toward Vareon.

A kingdom she had never visited.

A kingdom filled with people she had never met.

A kingdom beginning to starve.

She didn't know it yet, but somewhere inside that kingdom a ten-year-old boy had just been sold for ten silver coins.

And one day, that boy would stand at the gates of Lyria.

Not as a refugee.

Not as a slave.

But as a king.

Elayne looked at the map.

"Send the order."

Cassian bowed.

"Yes, Your Highness."

Outside, the bells of Lyria began ringing for evening.

The kingdom slept peacefully.

For now.

WHEN DRAGON BLEED

Volume I — The Price of Bread

Chapter 3 — The Egg Beneath the Earth

There were places in the world where sunlight had never touched the ground.

Deep beneath the eastern mountains, beneath layers of stone older than any kingdom, there was a chamber carved into the earth.

No king had built it.

No mason had shaped its walls.

It was simply there.

Forgotten.

Waiting.

At the center of the chamber stood an egg.

It was larger than a man's head.

Its shell was pale gray, covered with thin black veins that seemed to move when no one was looking directly at them.

For centuries, nothing had happened.

Then, on a night when three kingdoms fought a war above the mountains, the egg moved.

Once.

Then stopped.

A second movement came several hours later.

A crack appeared.

Far above, rain fell over a battlefield.

Two armies had been fighting since sunrise.

The soldiers of the eastern kingdom had been pushed back toward the mountains.

Their king had ordered them to hold the line.

The enemy commander had ordered his men to advance.

By sunset, hundreds were dead.

By midnight, thousands.

No one knew that beneath their feet, something ancient had awakened.

The egg cracked again.

A thin piece of shell fell away.

Inside was darkness.

Then two pale eyes opened.

A hand pushed against the broken shell.

A man emerged.

He was naked, covered in a thin layer of black fluid.

He fell onto the stone floor.

He did not breathe.

He did not move.

For several minutes, he simply lay there.

Then his fingers twitched.

His eyes opened.

He stared into the darkness.

He did not know where he was.

He did not know how long he had been there.

He did not know who he was.

He sat upright.

His body felt cold.

Not the cold of winter.

Something deeper.

He touched his chest.

There was no heartbeat.

He pressed harder.

Nothing.

He looked at his hands.

They were pale.

Almost gray.

He stood.

His legs nearly collapsed beneath him.

He caught himself against the stone wall.

For a long time, he remained there.

Then a sound reached him.

A distant cry.

He turned toward it.

Another cry.

Then another.

Human voices.

The man walked toward the tunnel.

He found the battlefield beneath the moon.

Bodies covered the valley.

Broken shields.

Abandoned spears.

Dead horses.

Blood had turned the mud black.

The man stood at the edge of the field.

He stared.

Something inside him felt strangely familiar.

He walked among the dead.

He saw faces.

Young men.

Old men.

A boy who could not have been more than sixteen.

The man crouched beside him.

The boy's eyes were open.

The man closed them.

He did not know why.

Then he heard something.

A whisper.

"Help..."

He froze.

The voice had come from behind him.

He turned.

A soldier lay against a broken shield.

Alive.

Barely.

The man approached.

"Are you dying?"

The soldier stared at him.

"What...?"

"Are you dying?"

The soldier coughed blood.

"Yes."

The man looked confused.

"Why?"

The soldier laughed weakly.

"Because they killed me."

The man looked down at the wound.

A spear had pierced the soldier's stomach.

The soldier was going to die.

The man sat beside him.

"Who are you?"

The soldier asked.

The man hesitated.

"I don't know."

The soldier laughed again.

"Then we're both lost."

The man looked at the battlefield.

"Do you know where this is?"

"Kingdom of Edrath."

"Who rules it?"

"King Aldric."

"Who are his enemies?"

The soldier smiled.

"You ask strange questions."

"I don't know why."

The soldier's breathing became weaker.

The man watched him.

"Do you fear death?"

The soldier looked toward the sky.

"Everyone fears death."

"Why?"

"Because nobody knows what comes after."

The man's expression changed.

"Perhaps I do."

The soldier frowned.

"What?"

The man didn't answer.

The soldier's eyes closed.

His body became still.

The man remained beside him.

For the first time, something inside him moved.

Not sadness.

Not grief.

Curiosity.

He placed his hand on the dead soldier's chest.

Nothing.

Then he whispered:

"Rise."

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

"Rise."

The body moved.

The man's eyes widened.

The soldier's fingers twitched.

His head turned.

His eyes opened.

The man pulled his hand away.

The soldier sat upright.

He looked around.

Then at his own hands.

"What..."

The man stared.

"You were dead."

The soldier touched his wound.

There was no pain.

"I remember dying."

The man nodded.

"Tell me your name."

The soldier hesitated.

"Rovan."

The man looked at him.

"Rovan."

He repeated the name slowly.

It seemed important.

"Are you alive?"

Rovan looked toward the battlefield.

"I don't know."

The man looked at the corpses around them.

Then back at Rovan.

"Can they rise too?"

Rovan stared at him.

"What?"

The man stood.

He walked toward another corpse.

An old soldier.

He placed his hand against the dead man's forehead.

"Rise."

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

"Rise."

The corpse moved.

Rovan stepped backward.

"Who are you?"

The man looked at his hands.

"I don't know."

He looked at the dead.

Then at the living.

Then at the mountains.

"I need a name."

Rovan stared at him.

"What name?"

The man looked toward the night sky.

There was no moon.

Only clouds.

"Vaelor."

"Why Vaelor?"

"I don't know."

Rovan nodded slowly.

"Then Vaelor."

Vaelor looked over the battlefield.

Hundreds of bodies lay beneath the stars.

He could feel them.

Not hear them.

Not yet.

But feel them.

Like thousands of closed doors.

Waiting for someone to open them.

He raised his hand.

"Rise."

Nothing happened.

Vaelor frowned.

He walked to another corpse.

"Rise."

The dead soldier moved.

Rovan stared.

"How?"

Vaelor didn't know.

He tried again.

"Rise."

Another corpse stood.

Then another.

Three dead soldiers looked around the battlefield.

They were confused.

Frightened.

One began crying.

"I remember my wife."

Vaelor looked at him.

"You are dead."

The soldier touched his face.

"No."

"You are."

The soldier shook his head.

"No."

Vaelor said nothing.

He didn't know whether the dead should remember.

He didn't know whether this was a gift.

Or a curse.

At dawn, soldiers from the victorious army returned to the battlefield.

They expected corpses.

Instead, they found hundreds of dead men standing.

The living soldiers froze.

Nobody moved.

Nobody understood.

A young officer whispered:

"What... are they?"

Vaelor stood among the dead.

He looked at the approaching army.

He understood something then.

The living had numbers.

Weapons.

Kingdoms.

Kings.

But the dead had something else.

Every battlefield could become a recruitment ground.

Every war could strengthen them.

Every victory over them could create more of them.

Vaelor looked at the soldiers.

Then at the thousands of corpses around him.

He spoke quietly.

"Do not attack."

The undead obeyed.

The living soldiers stared.

Vaelor stepped forward.

"I want to speak to your king."

The young officer nearly dropped his sword.

"You... can speak?"

Vaelor looked at him.

"Yes."

The officer swallowed.

"What are you?"

Vaelor looked toward the mountains.

He remembered the darkness.

The egg.

The first breath that never came.

The empty place where his heartbeat should have been.

"I don't know."

Then he looked back at the battlefield.

"But I think..."

He paused.

"...I'm going to find out."

Behind him, hundreds of dead soldiers waited silently.

And beneath the earth, the broken shell of the egg remained in darkness.

END OF CHAPTER 3