The Faded Sutra
You arrive at the Abbey of St. Jude’s on a day when the sky is the color of a bruised plum, heavy with the promise of rain that never quite falls. The journey has been long, a winding path through the misted highlands that leaves your bones aching and your mind sharpened to a painful edge. You carry with you a satchel of leather, worn soft by years of travel and handling, and inside it, wrapped...
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