The Pale Echo
The road to the Citadel of St. Jude was not merely a path of crushed granite and mud, but a physical manifestation of the weight Sir Aldous Thorne had carried for thirty years, a heavy, silent burden that pressed against his sternum with the insistence of a second heartbeat. He rode a horse that was less a beast than a shadow, its ribs visible beneath a coat the color of dried blood, and as he...
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