The Distant Journey
The great hall of Oakhaven stood empty save for the ghosts of those who had once feasted there, the long tables stripped bare and polished to a mirror shine that reflected the chandeliers in a dizzying array of fractured light, and I, Aldric Vane, sat alone at the head of the table, the weight of the silver goblet in my hand feeling less like metal and more like the cold, unyielding judgment of...
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