The Wistful Mirror
The name of the man was Kaelen, and it was spoken by the Archon with the flat, heavy cadence of a stone dropped into a well. Kaelen stood before the Shattered Mirror, a relic of obsidian and silver that hung in the center of the High Council’s sanctum, reflecting not his face but the raw, bleeding architecture of his intent. He was thirty years old, a warrior who had held the northern pass for...
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