The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-24 05:26:04 -

The frost bit into the stone of the Keep, a cold that settled in the marrow and refused to leave. I stood in the courtyard, my breath pluming white in the grey dawn, watching the cracks in the north wall widen under the weight of the winter. My name is Silas, and for twelve years I have worn the grey uniform of the Border Guard, but today the uniform felt like a shroud. The winter grain...

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