The Distant Nightmare
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring; it screamed, a jagged shard of sound that tore through the twilight silence of the village square, signaling not the hour of prayer but the arrival of the King’s Justice. Aldric Thorne stood in the center of the cobblestones, his breath misting in the sharp autumn air, his hand resting not on the hilt of a sword, but on the cold, iron-rimmed pommel of a...
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