The Distant Ghost
The snow fell in thick, grey clumps that smothered the sound of your own breathing, a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against your chest. You are Sir Eamon, and you are thirty years old, though the winter has aged you a decade in the span of a single week. Your task is simple in its cruelty: escort Prince Cael, the King’s twelve-year-old son, across the Ashen Waste to...
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