It came with little warning of the devastation it would bring. Those few gentle wisps of light brown fog that crept across our farmland gently put out daisies to sleep. It was not fast, lethal, or dangerous, so we ignored it, but it did not ignore us. Slowly it rose, filling the valley we farmed for our livelihood. It rose to our knees, our garden began to perish. It rose to our stomachs, our wheat withered away. It rose to our necks, our corn began to die. It reached the trees, the apples no longer grew. It reached our ears, and then the whispers came.

The wraith took everything we had.
Our crops
Our homes
Our lives
Our children
Our nation.

In the midst of this evil fog stands a mentally unstable stallion on the brink of death. His name is Constance.

This is the story of a nation divided, a stallion broken, and a society upturned. This is the story of the Wraith.

A huge thanks to Auramane for Editing and Joey for the idea.