In a world where time moves slowly and memories linger like ghosts, The Sorcerer King wonders if he can find a place to belong. A ruler without a throne, will he find a new purpose—or will he only bring death and ruin?
He's an Overlord—cold, composed, forged for dread, and immune to mortal whims. That is, until someone asked if he shines his skull with enchanted polish. If his femurs get itchy. If he sheds bone dust. They'll never know that in their infuriating irreverence, in their maddening persistence, they unknowingly keep a fractured soul from crumbling.