The Pale Shadows
The road north was a scar of red clay, cracked and dry under the midday sun. Caelen walked it with the rhythm of a man who had forgotten how to rest. His armor, once polished steel, was now a dull grey shell, pitted by time and the grit of the earth. He carried no sword. He carried only a heavy, iron-bound chest at his hip, its weight a familiar ache in his spine. The air tasted of dust and...
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