The Wistful Asylum
The feast hall of Aethelgard was not built for comfort, but for the projection of power, its high vaulted ceilings echoing with the clatter of silver and the roar of men who believed their strength was eternal. I sat at the high table, my hands resting on the rough-hewn wood, feeling the grain bite into my palms, a grounding sensation that I clung to as the noise swelled around me. King Aldric...
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