The Distant Whispers

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 00:57:57 -

The great hall of the Bastion of St. Jude smelled of roasted swan and old stone, a pungent mixture that clung to the back of my throat like a bad omen. We were gathered there, the entire garrison, for the annual Feast of the Saint, a tradition so ancient it had worn down the edges of its original meaning until it was nothing more than a hollow ritual of meat and wine. I sat at the long table,...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews