The Distant Garden
The wind did not blow. It cut. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the precipice. The stone beneath his boots was cold, ancient, and indifferent. He wore the grey wool of the Imperial Guard, the fabric stiff with sweat and the dust of a thousand miles. In his hand, he held a silver blade. It was not a sword of war. It was a key. A key to the Garden of Aethelgard. The legend was simple....
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