The Faded Ruin
The road to the Citadel was a ribbon of grey mud, stretched taut between the world and the sky. Elias walked. His boots were heavy. The rain did not fall. It hung in the air, a static veil that smelled of iron and old bone. He carried the box. It was oak. It was small. It was the only thing that mattered. The Citadel rose from the fog like a tooth in a rotting gum. Stone. Black stone. It did...
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