The Faded Guest
The iron lantern sat on the desk, its brass fittings green with verdigris, casting a light that was not light but a heavy, amber suspension in the air, holding the dust motes in a state of eternal, paralyzed drift. Elias Thorne, a man whose face had been carved by wind and duty until it resembled a landscape of eroded stone, stood before it, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword that had not...
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