The Wistful Ashes
The banquet hall of the High Court of the North sat in a silence that was not empty, but full, heavy with the weight of unseen expectations and the lingering scent of roasted boar and stale wine. It was a room of polished stone and high, vaulted ceilings where the light from the tallow candles seemed to struggle against the encroaching dark, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the...
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