The Distant Blade
The heavy oak door of the Citadel of St. Jude groaned against the stone lintel, a sound that had been worn smooth by three centuries of hinges and the relentless passage of time, yet today it felt less like a hinge and more like a bone snapping under the weight of an unseen hand. Sir Thomas Bradshaw stood in the threshold, his chainmail clinking softly with every shallow breath he took, the...
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