The Faded Dust
The iron on my gauntlets was cold, biting into the flesh of my palms as I held the pommel of my sword, the steel trembling not from fear but from the sheer, terrible weight of the command I was about to execute. We stood in the great hall of the King’s estate, the air thick with the scent of stale wax and old blood, the torches flickering against the high vaulted ceilings like dying stars...
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