This is not a history. Histories are written by the victors, or worse, by the scribes who never left the library. They clean the blood off the dates. They forget the smell of a man realizing he has five heartbeats left to live.
Let me tell you what this is not.
Scratched onto hide, stained with rain and something darker. A chronicle of those who live on the wrong side of the wall. The ones the empires call barbarian —a word they invented to make themselves feel safe while they sleep behind stone.
We barbarians? We just keep walking until the ground gives out.
This is not a history. Histories are written by the victors, or worse, by the scribes who never left the library. They clean the blood off the dates. They forget the smell of a man realizing he has five heartbeats left to live.
Let me tell you what this is not.
Scratched onto hide, stained with rain and something darker. A chronicle of those who live on the wrong side of the wall. The ones the empires call barbarian —a word they invented to make themselves feel safe while they sleep behind stone. Barbarian Chronicles -Ongoing- - Version- Intro
We barbarians? We just keep walking until the ground gives out. This is not a history