The Distant Blade
The fire did not start with a spark but with a scream that tore through the slate-grey morning air, a sound so raw and human that it seemed to crack the very stone of the watchtower where Elias stood, his hands wrapped so tightly around the hilt of his sword that the leather groaned under the strain of his white-knuckled grip. He was not a man of war in the way the old ballads described, not a...
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