The Distant Blade
The stone of the keep did not merely stand; it breathed. It was a respiration of cold, mineral silence, a slow, geological exhalation that filled the high chambers with a draft that tasted of iron and ancient dust. Elara sat on the floor of the watchtower, her back against the rough-hewn pillar that supported the roof, her knees drawn up to her chest. She was not sleeping. She was waiting. The...
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