The Faded Shield
The iron key hangs heavy in your palm, its teeth worn smooth by twenty years of turning, a cold weight that feels less like a tool and more like a bone you have grown into. You are Elias Thorne, Warden of Blackwood Keep, and the oak beams of the great hall are rotting not with age, but with a wet, black weeping that defies every law of carpentry and decay you have studied since your...
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