The Pale Banner
The air in the town of Oakhaven did not simply smell of rain and wet pavement; it tasted of iron and old secrets, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat during the annual Harvest Gala, a feast where the community gathered to celebrate a bounty that felt increasingly like a curse. I stood at the edge of the long oak table, a cobbler’s apron stained with the dust of ten thousand soles,...
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