The Faded Paradox
The rain fell on the cobblestones of Vaelen. It fell hard. It fell cold. It did not care for the city. It did not care for the men who walked beneath its gray sky. It washed the dust from the lintels. It washed the blood from the gutters. It washed the truth from the minds of the living. Caelen stood in the square. He held his hat low. The brim shadowed his eyes. He was a prisoner. Not of stone...
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