The Faded Root
The leather sheath of the decommissioning order sat heavy in Elias Thorne’s hand, the brass clasp cold against his thumb, a small, metallic weight that felt less like a document and more like a verdict. He stood in the doorway of Blackwood Ridge, the stone archway framing the grey, bruised sky above, and watched the dust settle in the silence of the keep, a silence that had been broken only by...
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