The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 06:36:06 -

The road was red. It was not the red of rust or the red of dried blood, though it looked like both. It was the deep, arterial crimson of the soil we had walked upon for three days. I walked. My boots were heavy. They were soaked. The weight was in my legs. It was in my chest. It was in my hands. I carried the sword. It was not a weapon. It was a burden. It was the shape of my duty. We entered...

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