The Distant Blade
The silver blade lay heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and unyielding, its edge catching the grey light that filtered through the scriptorium’s high, narrow windows. He held it not as a weapon, but as a tool of demarcation, a line drawn in metal against the fog of his recurring dreams, a boundary between the man he was and the man the Duke of Lancaster intended him to become. It was the year...
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