The Wistful Throne
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the boundaries between the stone walls of the Citadel and the churning earth below, and as I stood at the window of the high tower, watching the mist swallow the spires of the lower city, I felt the familiar, cold weight of my duty pressing against the back of my neck. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am the last of...
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