The Pale Echo
The ink on the document was still wet when you placed your thumb upon it. It was a small, official smear, a dark thumbprint pressed into the fibrous skin of the paper, binding your hand to the state. You were not a warrior in the old sense, clad in mail and bearing a sword, but you held the weight of the institution in your palms. You were a soldier of the bureaucracy, a guardian of the...
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