The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-20 20:59:34 -

The rain fell in sheets, cold and gray, turning the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, black mirror. I stood at the edge of the town square, my hand resting on the pommel of my sword. The leather was damp. It clung to my skin like a second, tighter suit. Beside me, Thomas leaned on his staff, his face a map of deep, weary lines. He did not look at the crowd. He looked at me. "You are...

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