The Distant Wound

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2026-08-23 13:17:02 -

The Distant Wound

The autumn wind carried the scent of woodsmoke and rotting apples as you rode into Oakhaven, your horse’s hooves striking the cobbled square with a rhythm that felt less like travel and more like a countdown. You are Elias, a Royal Inquisitor of thirty-two years, and you want the head of Thomas Bradshaw before the equinox, for the promotion that will finally scrub the stain of your lower-born...

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