The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 01:34:49 -

The fire in the hearth of the High Hall had burned down to a bed of white ash, yet the air still smelled of roasted pork and stale mead. We sat in a circle of oak benches, the wood worn smooth by generations of knees and elbows. I was the oldest among us, the Keeper of the Word, and my joints ached with the damp that seeped from the stone floor. Around me sat the young ones. They were loud....

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