The Faded Shield
Thorne. The word was not spoken aloud, but it hung in the air at the gate of the Shifting Vale, a heavy, invisible hand pressing against the back of Elias’s skull. He stood before the threshold, the leather of his shield creaking softly against his spine, the straps digging into his shoulders with a familiar, grinding pressure that he had worn for twenty years of border service. The fog beyond...
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