The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-18 05:07:00 -

The rain fell in sheets of iron against the leaded glass of the keep. Inside, the air smelled of wet wool and old stone. Sir Aldric stood by the hearth, his gauntlets resting on his knee. He watched the fire. It was a small thing, a dying thing. Just as the hope of the village had died. He held the seed in his palm. It was a single acorn, dark and hard as a coal. He had carried it for three...

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