The Pale Echo
The mist clings to the stone walls of the Citadel like a wet, grey skin that refuses to peel away, and you stand in the center of the guardroom, your hand trembling not from the cold that seeps through your iron-shod boots, but from the sudden, violent realization that the man you have sworn to protect, the man who taught you that order is the only mercy the world offers, is the source of the...
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