The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-23 21:40:09 -

The Distant Ghost

The vial was heavy, colder than the iron in my pocket, and it smelled of pine resin and rot. I held it tight, the glass biting into my palm, while the warlord’s men circled the campfire, their spears clicking against the frozen earth. I had refused my father’s dying command. He had pressed the black sap into my hand, his breath a wet rattle in the snow, begging me to drink it to wash away the...

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