The Distant Summer
The parchment lay upon the rough-hewn table of the village square, its edges curling like dry leaves in a wind that had long since passed, and the ink upon it had faded to the color of dried blood, a testament to a promise made three summers ago when the air still tasted of iron and the taste of the coming war. Elias stood before it, his hands trembling not with the cold that crept up from the...
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