The Faded Chronicle
The banquet hall was a cavern of cold stone and flickering tallow, the air thick with the scent of roasted lamb, stale wine, and the metallic tang of fear that clings to a room where power is being traded like currency. I sat at the far end of the long oak table, my hands folded in my lap, watching the shards of black glass on the tablecloth glint under the candlelight. They were not...
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