The Distant Blade

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2026-08-24 06:33:06 -

The Distant Blade

The iron pommel of the sword was cold, a dull weight in Sir Alistair’s hand as he traced the grain of the ancient oak table. He had held this hilt for twenty years, long enough for the leather to wear thin against his palm, long enough for the metal to become an extension of his own bone. The light in the tower room was thin, a pale gray sliver cutting through the narrow slit of the window,...

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