The Distant Journey
The bridge toll is up again, and I cannot find the ledger. You are standing at the gate of Kael’s Pass, your hands trembling not from the cold but from the first stiffening of the joints that will define the rest of your life. The iron key in your palm is warm, a domestic fever that hums against the skin of your wrist. It is 1347, and the winter snows are three days away, yet you feel the...
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