The Wistful Silence
The iron gates of the Citadel of Aethelgard groaned under the weight of the siege, a sound like the death rattle of a great beast, as Sir Aldric stood upon the battlements with his sword raised, the steel trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing inertia of time itself. He was no longer merely a knight; he was a vessel for a history that had outlived its makers, his armor dented and...
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