The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-20 15:15:40 -

The banquet hall of the Ashworth estate smelled of roasted lamb and damp wool, a thick, cloying scent that seemed to settle into the fibers of the heavy tapestries lining the walls. Thomas Ashworth stood at the head of the long oak table, his hands resting flat on the polished wood, feeling the slight give of the surface beneath his palms. He was a large man, built by years of standing watch...

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