The Faded Shield
The shield was heavy, a slab of oak and iron that had seen three winters on the wall of Aethelgard. Elias Thorne gripped the boss with hands that had gone numb from the cold, the leather strap biting into his palm. The mist outside the gate was not weather. It was a substance, thick and gray, pressing against the stone with a weight that made his shoulders ache. He could hear the silence before...
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