The Faded Shield
The dream came again, as it always did before the rain. It was not a dream of sleep but of waking, a lucid trap woven from smoke and iron. In the vision, the walls of the keep were not stone but flesh, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic beat that matched the thunder rolling across the valley. The protagonist stood at the center of the circular hall, a place known as the Round Table of Judgment,...
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