The Pale Verdict
The bell of the Guild Hall rang, a dull, bronze thud that vibrated in the marrow of Aldous Thorne’s bones. He stood before the High Justices, his hands clasped behind his back, the wool of his tunic rough against his skin. The room was thick with the scent of beeswax and old sweat, a suffocating blend that pressed against his nose. Around him, the other artificers stood in rigid silence, their...
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