The Faded Shield
The iron bowl was cold in your hands, the metal biting into your palms with a chill that seemed to radiate from the very center of the Great Hall, a hollow ache that mirrored the emptiness you had carried across the frozen moors to reach this place. You stood at the edge of the long table, a lone figure in the midst of the opulent chaos of the King’s feast, your armor dented and stained with...
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