The Pale Banner
Elara. The name was spat from the lips of the baron’s steward, a man whose voice carried the dry crackle of old parchment. It was not a summons, but a command, heavy with the implication of debt. Elara stood in the doorway of her father’s apothecary, the wooden frame creaking under the weight of her grip. Outside, the air in the village of Oakhaven was thick with the scent of rotting hay and...
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