The Distant Crown
The rain hits the cobblestones like a drumroll for a funeral no one has announced. You stand on the edge of the platform, your boots soaking through, the leather stiffening against the cold. The city is a blur of grey mist and wet stone, a labyrinth of spires and shadows that swallows sound. You are a man of the Crown’s Guard, but right now you feel like a ghost. A wraith patrolling the streets...
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