The Faded Frontier

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2026-08-22 00:14:58 -

The chain is cold. It bites into your wrist. You are the Warden. Or so the ledger claims. You sit in the stone chair. The chair is high. The floor is far below. Dust motes dance in the shaft of grey light. They are alive. They breathe. You watch them. Your hands are rough. The leather of the cuffs is cracked. It smells of iron and old blood. This is the keep. This is your life. You are not...

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