The Wistful Cipher
The iron gate of the Keep stood ajar, a wound in the ancient stone that breathed out the smell of wet ash and old blood. I stood before it, my hand resting on the cold iron, feeling the vibration of the siege that had consumed the last three days. The air was thick with the smoke of burning thatch and the distant, rhythmic thud of trebuchets striking the outer walls. I was not a soldier. I was...
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