The Faded Paradox
The bell rang, a low, mournful groan of iron that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones, and I stood alone in the center of the great stone hall, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and stale candle wax, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of pale winter light that pierced the high, narrow window. I was the King’s Guard, the last of the old order, a man whose life had...
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