The Pale Banner
The grain sack in Elias’s hands weighed forty pounds, the rough burlap abrading the skin of his palms as he hauled it across the threshold of the granary. Outside, the fog pressed against the windowpanes like a living thing, thick and grey, swallowing the garrison of Oakhaven whole. He was thirty-four, a captain with twenty years of service etched into the lines around his mouth, and he wanted...
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