The Distant Whispers
"You are a traitor, Caelen." The words hang in the air, heavy as wet wool, while the court gasps in unison, a sound like wind rushing through a broken window. You stand in the center of the throne room, your armor clinking softly with every breath, the metal cold against your skin despite the heat of the torches. The King sits above, a pale, withered thing propped up by velvet cushions, his...
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