The Wistful Witness
The air inside the Keep was thick with the smell of wet stone and old iron. It tasted of rust. I held the shield tight against my chest. The wood was heavy. It had a history. My father had carried it. Before him, his father. We were the Wardens of the North Wall. The wall was not just stone. It was a promise. The Council had summoned me. They sat in the high gallery. Their faces were hidden...
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