The Distant Whispers
You arrive in the city of Oakhaven not with the triumphant fanfare of a conqueror but with the quiet, suffocating weight of a man who has been told that his very existence is a stain upon the fabric of the realm, a traveler whose boots are still caked in the red clay of the provinces, a man who carries the smell of the fields in his hair long after he has scrubbed it away, and you walk down the...
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