The Distant Blade
The frost had not yet fully surrendered to the dawn when Aldous Vane first saw the reflection of his own soul in the shattered remnants of the royal mirror, a jagged constellation of silvered glass that seemed to pulse with a faint, dying rhythm against the cold stone of the keep. He stood there, a man of forty winters and a clerk’s stooped shoulders, dressed in the roughspun wool of a servant,...
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