The Faded River

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2026-08-19 08:43:57 -

The Faded River

The road ended at the water. It was not a bridge. It was a wall of stone, wet and black, slick with moss that smelled of iron and old rain. Thomas stood before it. He held the sword. The hilt was worn smooth. The leather grip had lost its shape years ago, molded to the palm of a hand that was no longer his. Or perhaps it was his hand, but a hand from a life he could not quite remember. The air...

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