The Pale Door
The parchment lay on the table, yellowed by candlelight and the damp breath of the room, its ink faded to the color of dried blood. Sir Kaelen stared at the seal, the wax cracked and cold, and felt the weight of the document settle into his bones like a stone dropped into a well. He was forty years old, his hands roughened by twenty years of gripping a hilt, and he had come to Aethelgard for...
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