The Wistful Voyage
The iron seal shattered. It did not break with a sound. It broke with a silence so profound it swallowed the groan of the castle walls. The seal had held for three centuries. It was a circle of blackened metal, etched with a sigil that no living tongue could name. It sat in the center of the high table in the Great Hall of Oakhaven Keep. Sir Alistair Thorne stood before it. He was a man of few...
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