The Pale Path
The seal had cracked when Thomas Ashworth pulled it from the satchel, but the ink inside remained stubbornly black, refusing to smear into the parchment. He held the letter in his left hand, his right gripping the hilt of a sword that felt heavier with each mile, and stared at the wax. It was not a word that carried weight. It was a symbol. A mark of authority that had once meant order, now...
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