The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-23 13:18:20 -

The candlelight flickered against the polished steel of Sir Kaelen’s breastplate, a small, dying thing. He sat at the high table of Lord Vane’s hall, the smell of roasted boar and stale ale thick in the air, while the lord spoke of taxes and border disputes. Kaelen did not listen. He watched his hands. The knuckles were swollen, the skin taking on a gray, woody hue that no amount of rubbing...

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