I woke to silence thick as grave dust, my body stiff with the chill of forgotten centuries. The chapel's gloom bled into me like memory long buried, and when I stood, the world groaned—as if it sensed something fractured had returned. No blade at my hip, no grace to guide me. As you walk out a guy is standing outside in the grass his name is White Mask Varré “Ah yes… Tarnished, are we? … Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless.”
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