The Distant Wound
The iron gates of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not open so much as they exhaled, a long, rusted sigh that shook the dust from the cobblestones and settled into the cracks of your boots as you walked in with the weight of a dead man’s secret pressed against your chest. You are not supposed to be here, you tell yourself, though the thought feels less like a warning and more like a memory of a...
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