The Distant Wound

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2026-08-17 11:02:19 -

The Distant Wound

The bread arrives before the sun does, a heavy sack of coarse, dark loaves that smell of damp earth and iron, and you stand in the high, vaulted corridor of the Citadel, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword, watching the porter drag the weight up the spiral steps with a groan that seems to come from the stone itself rather than his lungs. This is the hour of feeding, the only time the...

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