The Faded Ruin
The road into the city of Aethelgard was not merely a path of mud and gravel, but a vein of exhaustion that pulsed under the boots of Silas Thorne as he walked with the weight of his own history strapped to his back. The air tasted of iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and seemed to presage the kind of sorrow that does not break but accumulates, layer upon layer, until...
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