The Distant Promise
The banquet hall of Castle Ashworth smelled of roasted boar, stale wine, and the metallic tang of old blood. It was a heavy, suffocating scent, thick enough to chew on, hanging in the air like a shroud that refused to fall. I sat at the lower table, my hands resting on the rough wood, trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that surrounded me. My father, Lord...
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