The Wistful Crossroads
The road to the High Court was not a road at all, but a wound in the earth, scarred by the wheels of iron and the hooves of horses that had bled into the mud. I walked it with the weight of my own shadow, a thing that seemed heavier than the armor I had once worn, lighter now only because I had surrendered the steel. The air smelled of wet stone and old blood, a scent that clung to the back of...
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