The Distant Wound

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2026-08-17 20:28:15 -

The Distant Wound

The rain tasted of iron and old ash. I stood at the edge of the Blackwater marsh, my hand resting on the hilt of a sword that had not tasted blood in three days. Behind me, the gatehouse loomed, a jagged tooth of grey stone against the bruised sky. The sentries watched from the shadows. They did not speak. They did not need to. We were all bound by the same silence, the same heavy, suffocating...

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