Dirty Valentine’s Secret
There was an aura about the man—a rhythmic, deliberate pace that suggested he wasn't running from the wasteland, but walking toward a destiny.
When the Traveler finally stood in the courtyard, he didn’t ask for water. He didn’t ask for shelter. He simply reached into the thick folds of his travel-stained robes and pulled out a handful of the very dust he had walked through. He let it trickle through his fingers, forming a small, conical pile on the stone floor.
"The foundations are being poured, Van Dyne," the Traveler said, his voice like grinding stones. "The East is no longer a graveyard. It is a womb."
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