The Golden Maze
The morning he was to leave, the mist lay heavy on the river, a white shroud that erased the distinction between water and sky. Elara stood on the stone bridge, her fingers white-knuckled around the railing, watching the barge drift away into the gray nothingness. It was a quiet departure, stripped of the usual fanfare, for Elias Thorne, the Keeper of the Archives, was not a man who invited...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 23 Visualizações 0 Anterior