The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-17 14:06:45 -

The rain did not fall. It stood. It hung in the air like a gray curtain, heavy and still, over the valley of the Ashwood estate. The year was 1342, or perhaps earlier. Time had lost its teeth in this place. The stone walls of the manor were slick with a perpetual damp that smelled of rot and iron. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old blood. Silas sat at the head of the...

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