The Faded Shield
The dream was not a dark void but a blinding, sustained scream of white light that pierced the eyelids of Aldous Thorne, the Grand Archivist of the Iron Citadel, and left him gasping in the cold stone chamber where he had spent forty years cataloging the bones of the dead, a place so remote from the sun that the air tasted of dust and the metallic tang of old blood. He woke with the taste of...
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