The Distant Threshold
The iron seal on my breastplate cracked before the first arrow struck the earth. It was a sound like a bone snapping inside a dry drum, sharp and final, and it rang out across the muddy trench where I had been digging my grave for three days. The seal, a cold circle of forged steel etched with the sigil of the Order of the White Stag, had been my second skin for twenty years. It was not merely...
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