The Wistful Saga
The sky above the ramparts of Aethelgard did not break; it shattered. It happened with a sound like a thousand glass panes dropping on stone, a shrieking resonance that vibrated in your teeth and turned the blood in your ears to ice. You stood on the battlements, your hand resting on the cold iron of your sword hilt, watching the heavens crack open like a ripe pomegranate. From the fissures...
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