The Faded Road
The taste of iron coats your tongue. It is thick, metallic, and ancient. You wake in the center of the square, the cobblestones cold against your cheek. The air smells of wet ash and rotting apples. This is not a dream. Dreams do not leave the weight of a blade in your hand. You stand. Your armor is dented, the steel grey and dull. You are a soldier. You have always been a soldier, though you...
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