The Wistful Mirror
The glass did not break. It rippled, a dark and viscous wave spreading from the point where Sir Kaelen’s fist had struck it. The sound was not the sharp crack of shattering crystal, but a low, wet hum that vibrated in his teeth. He stood in the center of the Iron Citadel’s throne room, his hand still pressed against the Hallowed Mirror, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. King Aldric sat...
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