The Pale Door
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey curtain that swallowed the jagged teeth of the Blackwood Range. Sir Edward Ashworth stood in the center of the valley, his armor dented and streaked with mud, the weight of the world pressed against his breastplate like a physical hand. He was not fighting a man, nor a beast, but the silence that had grown too loud for his ears. The...
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