The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-24 09:36:38 -

The fog in Aethelgard did not rise from the ground so much as it seeped out of the cobblestones, a cold, grey breath that smelled of wet iron and old paper. Silas Vane, a border warden of thirty-four years, stood at the head of the Watch Tower, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. He was not there to watch the horizon for raiders; he was there to...

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