The Litany of the Broken World
The Great War had ended not with a treaty, but with a silence. The fields of the Lowlands were no longer green; they were a bruised purple, stained by the blood of three empires and the ash of a thousand burned libraries. Brother Thomas walked through the ruins, a solitary figure in a tattered brown habit, carrying a wooden staff and a lantern that burned with a soft, golden light. He was a...
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