The Faded Alibi

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2026-08-23 10:40:28 -

The Faded Alibi

The mist did not roll in so much as it rose, a thick, gray suspension that smelled of wet iron and old rot, swallowing the road that led to the shattered Abbey of St. Jude. Sir Alistair, forty years old and worn down to the sinew by three years of waking alone, kept his sword hand steady even though the hilt was slick with sweat, for the air around him was growing heavy, pressing against his...

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