The Distant Wound

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2026-08-24 21:16:10 -

The Distant Wound

The leather strap of the Rotting Crown bit into my wrist as I dragged the boy’s mother through the mud of the Ashen Gate. The year was 1240, and the rain had turned the cobblestones into a slick, black mirror that reflected nothing but the grey sky and the soot-stained uniform of a Warden who wanted to be a High Warden. I did not look at her face; I looked at the ledger in my hand, the ink...

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