The Pale Bridge
The feast in the Hall of Echoes was not a celebration of joy, but a sustained, humming argument against silence. It was the autumn of the year the river turned to glass, and the High Council had summoned the scholars of the University of Aethelgard to witness the binding of the old laws. Professor Julian Thorne sat at the long oak table, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the lenses of...
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