The Faded Chronicle
The wind did not howl. It scraped. It was a dry, rasping sound, like sandpaper dragged across the rough bark of an old oak. Elias walked the perimeter of the wall. He counted the paces. One, two, three. Four. The stone was cold under his boots. It bit into the soles, a constant, dull ache that had become part of him, inseparable from the rhythm of his stride. He was a Warden of the Keep. That...
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