The Faded Root
The rusted iron key had been cold in Sir Aldric’s hand for twenty years, a weight that seemed to drain the warmth from his very bones as he left his sister Elara’s bedside. She lay in the dim light of the chamber, her breathing shallow and ragged, the sickness that had consumed her for a decade finally bringing her to the edge of silence. Aldric was forty, his face a map of lines carved by war...
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