The Faded Shield
The dream is always the same, a tectonic grinding that begins in your teeth and radiates outward until your hands are shaking so violently you cannot hold a chisel, a visceral warning that the stone of Blackwood Keep is dying, a somatic scream of structural failure that wakes you in the dark with the taste of limestone dust on your tongue. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master...
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