The Faded Frontier
The mud on your boots is dry, cracked, and old. It has been three days since it rained, yet the mist hangs low over the ridge, thick as wool, smelling of iron and rot. You are Elias. You are forty-two. You are a warden. You want your name cleared. You want the estate back. You want to look your father in the eye without seeing the shame in his withered hands. Lord Vane stands at the top of the...
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