The Wistful Throne
The stone beneath Aldous’s feet did not merely crumble; it exhaled a dry, dusty sigh that tasted of centuries, a sensation that vibrated up through the soles of his boots and settled into the marrow of his shins, reminding him with brutal, geological precision that he was standing on the precipice of his own irrelevance. He adjusted the leather satchel at his hip, the strap biting into his...
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