The Wistful Mirror
The road to the keep of Sir Alaric was a ribbon of mud that snaked through the autumnal mist, and it was here, in the damp chill of the morning, that Kaelen felt the weight of his own reflection begin to slip from his soul. He walked not as a soldier, but as a ghost dragging the heavy iron of his past behind him. The journey had been long, a linear march through forests that seemed to close in...
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