The Faded Shield
The rain fell on the thatched roofs of Oakhaven with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a slow, gray burial, soaking into the stone walls and the hearts of the men who kept them dry. Elias Thorne stood at the head of the line, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword that had not been drawn in thirty years, while the other watchmen shifted their weight in the mud, their...
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