The Wistful Show
The road to the Iron Citadel was not a path but a scar, a deep, winding cut in the grey landscape of the Northern Highlands where the rain fell in sheets that blurred the line between earth and sky. Silas Vane walked with the heavy, rhythmic stride of a man who had spent thirty years in service to a crown that owed him nothing, his boots caked in the black mud of the lowlands, his uniform a...
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