The Pale Banner
The name was called by no one, yet it hung in the smoke like a physical weight, a summons Eamon felt in the marrow of his bones. He stood in the center of what had been Kael’s Hollow, the village now a skeleton of charred timber and ash, the air thick with the scent of burnt thatch and the sweet, rotting perfume of the Whispering Moss. The moss clung to the blackened beams, pulsing with a...
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