The Faded River

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2026-08-23 07:02:02 -

The Faded River

The obsidian pane did not reflect my face; it reflected my death. I stood in the center of the high chamber, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old blood, my hand trembling as it hovered over the hilt of my sword. It was the winter of 1342, and I, Sir Kaelen, had served the High Court for two decades, yet I found myself paralyzed by a single, shattering desire: to destroy the mirror that...

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