The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-22 06:59:45 -

The hall smelled of roasted pheasant and damp wool, a heavy, cloying scent that hung in the rafters like a fog that refused to clear. Sir Alistair Thorne stood at the center of the floor, his tunic stained with the grease of the feast, watching the candles flicker against the stone walls. He was a man of the old guard, a scholar of the court’s hidden mechanisms, and tonight he felt the weight...

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