The Faded Guest
The cellar smelled of wet earth and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood. Elias stood before the root system of the ancient oak that rose through the floorboards, its bark blackened and peeling like burnt skin. He was forty years old, his hands roughened by decades of sword work and the damp chill of the ancestral manor, and his spirit was bound to that tree in a covenant older than the stone...
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