The Distant Blade
The oak stands at the edge of the courtyard, its bark a palimpsest of centuries, unchanging in the face of our transient ambitions. I have walked this path for thirty years, and it remains, a silent witness to the rituals of the Order. I am not a man of flesh in the way you understand it. I am a construct of memory and duty, a being woven from the threads of the institution’s history. They call...
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