The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-18 13:34:20 -

The bell tolled. It was a hollow sound, like wood striking bone. Marcus stood in the center of the Great Hall. Dust motes danced in the shafts of pale light. He held the ledger. It was thick. Bound in cracked leather. The pages smelled of rot and iron. "Read," said the Archivist. His voice was dry. He did not look up. He was counting coins. Gold coins. They clicked against each other. A bright,...

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