The Wistful Saga
The rain fell on the ramparts of Blackwood Keep, cold and relentless. It slicked the ancient stone, turning the world into a grey smear of mud and mist. Sir Thomas stood by the iron gate, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He did not draw it. He merely held it. The weight of the steel was a familiar comfort, a solid truth in a world that had grown soft and strange. Inside the courtyard,...
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