The Faded Frequency
The dream was of a bell. It hung in a tower of black stone. The rope was frayed. It smelled of wet wool and old dust. Elias woke with the taste of iron in his mouth. He lay still for a moment. The ceiling of his cell was low. It was painted with faded blue. The paint was peeling. He was a scholar of the old ways. Or so they said. The order had given him a desk. It was made of oak. It sat in a...
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