The Wistful Saga
The iron chain wrapped around Caleb’s wrists bit into the flesh, a cold, wet friction that spoke more loudly than the shouting guards. He was not a man of war, nor of crime in the way the legends described, but the architecture of the law had mistaken his silence for guilt, his stillness for conspiracy. The road to the eastern marshes was a ribbon of mud and blood, stretched tight by the...
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