The Distant Legend
The border was not a line on a map, but a jagged scar in the earth that hummed beneath the frost. Elias Thorne, forty years old and stiff in the joints from twenty years of standing watch, walked the perimeter of the Royal Estate as the moon rose, his boots crunching against the frozen mud. He wanted his pension, the quiet dignity of a full service record, but the system had denied his last...
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