The Wistful Ashes
The iron gate of the High Court shudders against its ancient hinges, a groan that sounds less like metal straining and more like the final exhale of a dying god, as you drive your sword through the throat of the last sentinel guarding the Hall of Whispers. Blood, hot and copper-tasting, splatters across the pristine marble floor, a violent red stain that mirrors the crimson tapestries hanging...
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