The Faded Shield
The bronze shield lay in the center of the room, a fractured disc of greenish metal that had once gleamed with the pride of the House of Thorne, and Elias sat before it on a stool that had lost two of its legs, the silence of the ancestral hall pressing against his eardrums like a physical weight. He was fifty years old, a general in name only since the border wars had ended, and his hands,...
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