The Wistful Ashes
The iron gates of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not open so much as they sighed, a low, grinding exhalation that seemed to rise from the very bedrock of the earth, shaking the dust from the cobblestones and settling into the cracks of the ancient, moss-eaten stone that formed the perimeter of the kingdom’s most dreaded institution, a place where the air was always thick with the scent of ozone...
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