The Distant Blade
The candlelight in the refectory of St. Aldric’s Abbey did not so much illuminate the hall as it suspended us in a warm, golden haze, where the smoke of roasted lamb and the sharp tang of beeswax mingled into a single, heavy breath that settled over the shoulders of every novice and master alike, creating a stillness that felt less like peace and more like the held breath before a scream. I sat...
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