The Faded River
The blade bites deep. You do not flinch. You have learned that pain is a language spoken by the body, and today your body is screaming. The sword of the King’s champion shatters against your breastplate, a sound like a bone breaking in a quiet room. You are in the throne room. The air is thick with the scent of beeswax and old blood. It is the winter of your forty-second year. You are a...
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