The Wistful Petal
The bell rang in the Great Hall of Aethelgard, a sound so deep and resonant it seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Edward Ashworth’s bones. He stood in the center of the circular room, his armor polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the flickering torchlight, making him look less like a man and more like a statue carved from cold iron. Around him, the other knights of the Order of the Silver...
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