The Faded Shield
Thorne, you are blocking the gate." The voice was not angry, merely tired, the kind of exhaustion that settles into the joints after a long day of carrying stone. Lord Vane stood on the other side of the threshold, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword he no longer had the strength to draw, his eyes fixed on the iron disc Elias Thorne held against his chest. The shield was dented, the paint...
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