The Distant Blade
The frost lay thick upon the cobblestones of the King’s Square, a white silence that swallowed the sound of the marching boots. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the formation, his breath pluming in the cold air, a thin ribbon of mist that vanished before it could reach the sky. He held the hilt of his sword, a familiar weight in his hand, the leather worn smooth by decades of service. The...
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