The Distant Blade
The fog did not merely surround the Blackwood Manor; it inhabited the stone, pressing against the windows of the topmost tower like a living thing seeking entry. Elias, twelve years old and thin as a reed, stood before the workbench, his fingers trembling as they brushed the cold, rusted iron of the blade. It was a long, curved thing, ancient and dull, resting in a leather sheath that had...
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