The Faded Root
The road to the Citadel of St. Jude was not a road at all, but a scar of packed earth and crushed bone, winding upward through a fog so thick it felt less like weather and more like a living membrane, a grey skin stretched over the world. Thomas Vane walked it with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man whose legs had forgotten how to stop moving, his boots sinking into the mud that clung to his...
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