The Faded Masquerade

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2026-08-23 00:40:03 -

The shard in Silas Vane’s left hand was cold, not with the chill of the autumn air, but with a damp, internal cold that seeped through the leather of his glove and into the bone, a sensation like holding a dead fish. He stood in the center of the ruined outpost, the timber frame of the watchtower groaning above him in the wind, while the mist that had swallowed the valley of Aethelgard twenty...

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