The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-20 00:45:03 -

The banquet hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of food, but of damp stone and the slow, sweet decay of the oak beams overhead. It was a smell that had settled into the mortar over centuries, a miasma that no amount of scrubbing could lift from the heavy tapestries that lined the cold walls. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long table, his hands resting on the polished wood,...

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