The Faded Ruin
The iron gates of the Citadel of Ash were never meant to be opened, yet they groaned under the weight of the morning’s hunger, a sound like the dragging of ancient bones across a frozen lake, as the procession of the Order of the Silver Veil filed past the crumbling archway into the courtyard where the mist hung thick and gray, tasting of sulfur and forgotten prayers. Elias Thorne, a man whose...
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