Ravens over Godspire

The chroniclers of the south, cloaked in their sun-warmed scriptoriums, declared that the age of gods had ended.

They lied.

Long before the bells of the White Christ rang out across the jagged northern fjords-before iron kings hacked their names into the living bone of Europe-the sea still kept its ancient counsel. It spoke in the roar of winter gales and the hush of midnight dreams, in the shadowed flicker of raven wings skimming low over black water, in the slow, aching groan of ice splitti...