The Golden Mirror
The road through the Ashwood was not a path so much as a wound in the earth, a jagged scar of red clay that twisted upward into the mist, and you walked it with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who has forgotten the sound of his own voice, your armor clinking softly against the damp air like the teeth of a struck bell. You were Sir Kaelen, though the name had begun to feel like a foreign...
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