The Faded Shield
The iron shield hung in the hall of the Guild of St. Jude, a slab of dull, pitted metal that seemed to absorb the light of the candles rather than reflect it. I stood before it, my fingers tracing the cold, jagged edge where a sword had once struck, feeling the weight of the years that had settled into its grain like dust in a forgotten library. It was not a beautiful object. It did not bear...
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