The Faded Road
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of Ashworth Hall, a relentless, gray percussion that seemed to seep into the very stones. Sir Aldric stood by the window, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, watching the mud churn in the courtyard. He was forty years old, and his face was carved from the same hard granite as the hall itself. Inside, the air...
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