The Faded Sutra
The rust had eaten the hinges of Sir Aldric’s shoulder pauldron, locking him into a permanent, hunched posture. He stood before the High Court, his armor a cage of orange flakes and blackened steel, and watched the young King, a boy of twenty with the pale, hungry eyes of a stray cat, inspect his resignation with disdain. Aldric wanted to return his sword. He wanted the silence of the forest,...
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