The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended grey mist that clung to the damp wool of Elias Thorne’s overcoat and settled into the pores of his skin with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a verdict. He stood in the vestibule of the old university library, a place that smelled of decaying lignin and the sharp, metallic tang of old ink, his fingers trembling...
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