The Pale Banner
The thread is cut. It was a clean severance, a single point of failure in a weave that had held for three centuries. Elara Vance stood in the center of the High Chamber, the air thick with the scent of dry rot and old iron. In her hands, the fragments of the Regent’s standard lay in a heap of pale silk and splintered ash-wood. The dawn council met in four hours. If she could not reconstruct the...
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