The Pale Banner
The fog had not lifted from the citadel of Oakhaven in three days, a thick, grey shroud that turned the stone walls into indistinct smudges and the men within them into ghosts of their own making. I am Elias Thorne, commander of this garrison, and I have spent the last seventy-two hours staring at a patch of pale light hovering above the barracks, a banner that should not exist, woven from a...
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