The Distant Blade

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2026-08-20 13:52:34 -

The Distant Blade

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the ink still damp with the smell of iron and rain, a stark rectangle of white paper on the mahogany desk of Arthur Penhaligon. It was a summons, or perhaps a command, from the High Steward of the Ironworks Guild, a man whose name was spoken in hushed tones like a curse or a prayer, depending on the listener’s proximity to the mill gates. Arthur did not open it...

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