The Distant Legend
The blade sang. It cut the air with a thin, high whine. A sound like a dying bird. Caelen’s arm ached. The weight was wrong. Too heavy. The steel was dull. It had not been sharpened in days. He stood in the square. The cobblestones were wet. Mist clung to the roots of the old oaks. The crowd was silent. They watched from the shadows. They held their breath. "Yield," said the Warden. The Warden...
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