The Distant Journey
The iron buckle of your breastplate shatters against the cobblestones of the courtyard, the sound a sharp, metallic shriek that cuts through the damp morning fog like a knife through silk. You do not flinch. You have spent twenty years in the service of the Crown, standing on the walls of Ashworth Keep, watching the horizon for enemies who never came, and your body has learned to dissociate...
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