The Wistful Ashes
The road to the Citadel of Saint Jude was not a path but a wound in the earth, a grey scar of packed mud and slate that stretched through the weeping fogs of the valley. Elias walked it with the heavy, rhythmic step of a man who had forgotten how to stop. He was a prisoner of the Order, not by chain, but by a debt of silence so profound it had calcified into the architecture of his bones. He...
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