The Wistful Mirror
The hall of the Order of the Silver Veil was built from bone and breath. It stood at the edge of the world, where the fog did not lift but thickened into a solid wall. Here, the air tasted of iron and old prayers. Elias stood at the foot of the long table. He wore the grey tunic of a Scribe, the fabric stiff with dust and silence. His hands, usually so steady when holding a quill, trembled...
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