The Distant Crown
Thorne. The word hit the back of your neck before the sound reached your ears. You turned, boots scraping the frozen gravel of the checkpoint. Captain Vane stood ten paces away, his face grey with the cold and something harder, something bureaucratic that had calcified over decades of service. "Thorne, step forward." You took the step. Your hands were shaking, not from the wind, but from the...
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