The Wistful Throne
The stone did not echo, which was the first thing that felt wrong, and the second was that the silence had weight, pressing against Aldric’s ears like deep water. He adjusted the grip on his sword, the leather worn smooth by twenty years of service, and watched the men of the Iron Order file into the shadow of the Obsidian Citadel, their boots striking the black glass ground with a dull,...
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