The Faded Root

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 13:21:41 -

The Faded Root

The hall smelled of roasted pork and damp wool. It was the sort of smell that settled in the lungs and stayed there, heavy and sweet. I stood near the door, holding a glass of cider I did not want to drink. My hands were steady. They had to be. My hands were the only things I trusted anymore. We were gathered for the Feast of the New Hearth. In the town of Oakhaven, this was a holy thing. Not...

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