The Faded Root
You stand at the threshold of the High Hall, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and old wax, and you know, with the cold certainty of a bone breaking, that this is the moment you have spent your entire life preparing to avoid. The Great Root, that gnarled, pulsating artifact of dark wood and living shadow that hangs from the ceiling like a suspended heart, watches you with eyes that are...
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