The Faded Frontier

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2026-08-19 00:20:17 -

The wind carried the scent of rotting apples and old iron. I walked with Rowan. His cloak was tattered. The hem dragged in the mud. We climbed the hill. The castle loomed above us. It was made of black stone. It had no warmth. It had no light. Only silence. We were children. We were small. The world was vast and cold. Rowan held a branch. It was dry. It was brittle. He looked at it. He looked...

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