The Wistful Saga
The fire in the great hearth of the Hall of Echoes did not crackle, but hummed, a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones, a sound so ancient and pervasive that it felt less like noise and more like the heartbeat of the earth itself, stirring the dust motes that danced in the shafts of pale, moonlight that filtered through the high, arched windows, illuminating the...
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