The Faded Guest
The road into the valley was not a road at all, but a scar of white stone running through a forest that breathed in the dark. I remember the smell of wet iron and old moss, a scent that stuck to the back of my throat like a lie. I was twelve, small for my age, with boots that had seen better centuries. My name was Elias, though in the village of Oakhaven, they called me the Quiet One, a title...
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