The Wistful Atlas
You stand in the courtyard of the Ashworth Military Academy, the stone beneath your boots cold and damp with the mist that clings to the valley floor at dawn, and you feel the weight of the sword at your hip not as a tool of war but as an anchor tethering your spirit to the earth while the world above you, the high walls, the watchtowers, the endless grey sky, seems to press down with the...
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