The Distant Nightmare
The fire started in the roots. That is what they told us. That the blight had taken hold deep in the black earth, a sickness of the soil that turned the sweet potato vines into twisted, necrotic things. We did not know then that the roots were not the problem. We were the problem. I was a warder. My name was Elias Thorne. I wore the grey tunic that itched at the collar and smelled of damp wool...
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