The Fog of Isolation
The salt-heavy mist of the Isle of Mourning did not just obscure the landscape; it seemed to erase the very memory of the world beyond. Julian stood on the jagged cliffs, his wool coat damp and clinging to his frame like a second, colder skin. In his trembling hand, he held the Royal Decree—a piece of parchment with a wax seal that looked authentic enough to fool a dying man, which was exactly...
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