The Faded Guest

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2026-08-20 05:27:25 -

The Faded Guest

The blood on my hands was not mine, which was the first and perhaps the most significant thing I understood as I stood there in the center of the muddy courtyard, the rain slicking my wool tunic until it weighed as much as chainmail, and I watched the figure of the Captain, old Sir Alistair, fall to his knees not from the weight of the sword in my grip but from the sheer, terrible exhaustion of...

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