The Distant Crown
The wind does not care that you are leaving. It howls through the pines with a voice like dry leaves scraping over stone, indifferent to the weight of your armor or the cold sweat on your brow. You stand at the edge of the ridge, looking down into the valley where the fog has settled like a gray shroud. Below, the village of Oakhaven sleeps, unaware that its protector is about to be unmade. You...
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