The Distant Promise
"You have broken the seal," the High Chancellor said. His voice did not carry the weight of thunder, as one might expect in the Hall of Echoes, but rather the dry rasp of a leaf skittering across old stone. He sat behind a desk of black oak, its surface polished to a mirror sheen by centuries of anxious hands. The candlelight in the chandeliers above us flickered, casting long, dancing shadows...
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