The Wistful Dinner
The bell of the Watch-tower had not rung in three days, a silence that hung over the village of Oakhaven like a thick, unwashed cloth, pressing down on the thatched roofs and the cobbled streets until the very air felt heavy and wet with a dread that no one dared to name. I stood at the gate of the Keep, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword which had once gleamed like a winter star but now...
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