The Faded Chronicle
The seal on the parchment has cracked. You know this because you can see the dust settling in the grooves, a fine, gray snow that has accumulated over three centuries. You are standing in the Great Hall of King Aldric’s fortress, a place where the air tastes of iron and old blood, and you are holding the only thing that can save you. It is not a sword. It is not a crown. It is a letter, folded...
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