The Distant Blade
The iron taste of blood is not a flavor but a temperature, a cold fire that settles behind your teeth and radiates outward into the marrow of your bones, and you stand now in the center of the Great Hall, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet stone, while the silence that follows the clash of your blade against the obsidian shield of the King’s guard is not empty but heavy, a physical...
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