The Pale Meridian
You are standing in the center of the great hall, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and the metallic tang of old blood, while your father, the Lord Protector, stands behind you with his hand resting on your shoulder, a weight that feels less like support and more like the anchor of a sinking ship. The room is silent, save for the dripping of water from the vaulted ceiling and the heavy,...
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