The Faded Quadrant
You wake in the damp cold of the cellar. The air tastes of iron and old stone. You are not alone. A figure sits in the corner, hunched over a wooden chest. It is your brother. He looks small. His armor is rusted. The metal is pitted and black. It is the same armor you wore when you left. You do not remember leaving. You do not remember the war. You only remember the cold. "Get up," he says. His...
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