The Faded Paradox
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the village square into slick, black mirrors reflecting the low, bruised sky above, and within the narrow, damp stone walls of the only inn in the valley, Thomas Vane sat alone with a heavy, iron-bound chest that had arrived by mule cart at dawn, its surface scarred by time and travel, a relic...
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