The Faded Shield

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2026-08-24 03:51:23 -

The Faded Shield

The dream always began with the smell of rotting oak and the slow, viscous drip of black water from the shield-crest above the scriptorium door. Brother Thomas woke with the taste of iron on his tongue, his fingers still trembling with the ghost of the quill he had dropped in his sleep. It was the eve of the winter solstice, and the candle in his cell had burned low, casting long, wavering...

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