The Faded Paradox

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2026-08-19 18:44:36 -

The Faded Paradox

The road was bad. Mud. Stones. My horse, a grey mare named Dust, stumbled. I checked the reins. Tightened them. We were three days from the border. The fog was thick. It tasted like iron. I pulled my coat tighter. It smelled of sweat and old wool. "Keep your eyes open, Silas," I said. My voice was dry. Silas sat behind me. He did not answer. He held the reins. His hands were white. He was...

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