The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-21 20:34:53 -

The iron gates of Blackwood Keep did not rust. They held their shape in the grey air, rigid and unyielding, like the spine of a beast that refused to die. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet stone and old blood. Sir Thomas Ashworth stood in the courtyard, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He did not draw it. He had not drawn it in three days. The court was waiting. The...

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