The Faded Ruin

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2026-08-21 09:21:44 -

The Faded Ruin

The feast was a lie told in silver and grease. We sat in the long hall, the air thick with the smell of roasted boar and wet wool. I was thirty years old, but my hands felt like they belonged to a man of eighty. The arthritis had crept in slowly, a thief in the night, settling into the knuckles, the wrists, the spine. I was a Warden of the Gate. My job was to keep the city safe. Or so I was...

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