The Faded Shield
The arrow struck your shoulder before you could draw breath. You felt the wood splinter against bone, a hot, wet sting that bloomed into a dull ache. You did not cry out. You never did. You stood in the mud of the valley, the rain slicking your tunic, while the enemy’s spears lowered. You were the Warden. You were the shield. And you were alone. The institution was the Keep. It was a place of...
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