The Faded Shield

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2026-08-22 15:54:56 -

The Faded Shield

The mud was the first thing Elias Thorne smelled, a thick, metallic tang that coated the back of his throat before his eyes even registered the grey sludge of the trench floor. He was thirty-four, a sergeant in the King’s Own Rifles, and he held a shield that did not belong in 1912, let alone in a French mud pit. It was rusted, fragmented, the crest of his regiment barely visible beneath layers...

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