The Distant Promise
The iron key burned against Thomas’s palm, a rusted weight that felt heavier than the sword he had no strength to lift, as the outer gate of Blackwood Keep groaned under the relentless battering of the mercenaries’ ram. He was twelve years old, a scrawny squire with hands that shook not from the cold seeping through his thin wool tunic, but from a terror so profound it had calcified into a...
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