The Faded Shield
The chisel in my hand was heavier than it looked, its iron edge worn to a dull, jagged point that had already drawn a bead of blood from my thumb, a small, bright warning against the grey, cold metal. I stood before the great gate of Oakhaven, the city’s only barrier against the creeping mist of the lowlands, and watched as the obsidian shield, a slab of black stone fused to the iron frame,...
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