The Wistful Throne
The iron gate of the Keep did not open for the living, yet it groaned and swung wide as if welcoming the tide of blood and bone that pressed against its rusted hinges, a sound that was less a mechanical failure and more the deep, tectonic sigh of a world shifting on its axis under the weight of too many centuries. Aldric Vane stood in the courtyard with his sword arm hanging limp by his side,...
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