The Faded Sutra
The rain did not fall so much as it was thrown, a slurry of grey and cold that turned the cobblestones of the royal causeway into slick, treacherous mirrors, reflecting the towering, indifferent spires of the citadel that loomed over the lowlands like a judgment yet to be pronounced. Sergeant Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a man whose legs had long since ceased to be his...
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