The Faded Quadrant
The iron gate of the High Sanctum did not rust, for it was forged from the bones of the first kings, yet it groaned under the weight of the boy’s small, bleeding hands as he pressed against the bars, his breath coming in ragged, wet sobs that misted in the freezing air of the ancient, impossible winter that had settled over the kingdom of Aethelgard. Inside the towering spires of white stone,...
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