The Distant Cartograph
The morning light entered the Hall of Antiquities not as a blessing, but as a verdict, slicing through the high, arched windows to illuminate the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air like the souls of the forgotten dead. Elias Thorne stood before the central plinth, his fingers resting lightly on the edge of the velvet rope that separated the mundane world from the curated eternity of the...
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