The Faded Photograph
The iron gate of the obsidian quarry is locked, and the key is swallowed by the earth, so you climb the fence with bleeding fingers and find yourself not in the mine, but in the middle of a fight that has been raging for three centuries, a war of shadows where the air tastes of rust and old blood and the ground beneath your boots is soft with the decay of forgotten kings. You are running, your...
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