The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-23 00:41:39 -

The Wistful Petal

The rusted gauntlet sat in Aldric’s left palm, cold as a river stone. It was a relic of the Order of the Silver Hand, a guild disbanded three winters past, and it had not been polished in a decade. Aldric, forty years old and bearing the stiff gait of a man whose lungs were slowly filling with fluid, knelt before the throne. He wanted only the King’s pardon for his brother, who had been...

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