The Distant Journey
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a persistent, cold grey static against the leaded glass of the university library, blurring the world outside into a smear of wet slate and dying ivy. Elias Thorne sat hunched over a desk of dark oak, the wood worn smooth by centuries of anxious elbows, his fingers tracing the marginalia of a treatise on hydraulic engineering. The air in the room...
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