The Pale Fracture
The King’s writ is dated in the third month of the Iron Moon. It is signed in red ink, the seal pressed hard enough to crack the parchment. I hold it in my left hand, the leather strap of my satchel cutting into my wrist. The paper is cold. It has been cold for three days. I am Thị Le, Warden of the Pale Fracture, and I am here to demand the release of Kiet. The Obsidian Vault sits in the...
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