The Distant Journey
The fire did not arrive as a rumor or a distant smoke, but as a wall of orange heat that swallowed the western ridge in the span of a single breath. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the balcony of the royal manor, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sudden, violent realization that the air had changed its texture, becoming thick and particulate, tasting of ash and charred pine. He was a...
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