The Wistful Skyline
The iron shield of Caelen Blackwood was not merely a piece of forged metal held before his chest but a second skin, a calcified extension of his own weary bones that had absorbed the shock of a hundred blows until the distinction between the man and the weapon had blurred into a single, groaning entity of flesh and steel. He stood in the muddy, rain-slicked courtyard of the Citadel of Oakhaven,...
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