The Wistful Atlas
The road to the citadel of Aethelgard was not merely a path but a wound in the earth, a jagged scar of red clay and broken stone that stretched endlessly toward the horizon where the sky hung low and heavy with the promise of a storm that would never break. Seraphina Vane walked it with the heavy, deliberate pace of a woman who had long since ceased to hope for mercy and had instead made a...
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