The Faded Sutra
The mud of Oakhaven was not merely wet; it was a living, sucking thing that held the weight of the world, and into this mire Sir Aldric had driven his heel, his sword raised high against a figure that mirrored his stance with a precision that defied the chaos of the siege. The shadow did not bleed when Aldric’s blade found its shoulder; it only shivered, a ripple in the air that smelled of old...
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