The Distant Summer
The hall smells of roasted boar and old stone. You stand at the edge of the feast, your armor cold against your ribs, the metal humming with a low, persistent frequency that only you can hear. It is the hum of duty. It is the hum of the wall. Around you, the lords of the Keep drink deep from silver cups, their laughter bouncing off the vaulted ceiling like stones thrown into a dry well. You do...
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