The Distant Blade
The wind did not blow so much as it scraped. It was a dry, persistent friction that moved through the narrow, stone-walled corridor of the keep, carrying with it the taste of dust and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. Elias Vance walked with a limp that had become a part of his gait, a rhythmic stumbling that echoed off the damp walls, a sound that felt less like movement and more like a...
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