The Faded Chronicle
The road to the valley is long, and your feet know the weight of every stone before your mind consents to the pain. You have walked for three days, carrying the wooden box on your back, the straps digging into shoulders that have forgotten how to rest. The air grows colder as the altitude rises, thick with the scent of pine resin and damp earth. You are a man of few words, a craftsman of the...
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