The Distant Crown
You wake in the dark. The air is thick with the scent of wet stone and old blood. It is the third year of the siege. The city of Oakhaven stands alone, a crown of grey rock upon a hill, besieged by the iron tide from the north. You are the Chronicler. Your hands are stained with ink and dirt. You are not a soldier. You are a man of words, of records, of quiet observation. But in Oakhaven,...
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