The Distant Threshold
The ink on the parchment was still wet, glistening like a fresh wound in the lamplight. Elias Thorne, the Archivist of the High Court, sat with his back against the cold stone of the library’s alcove, his fingers stained black up to the knuckles. He was a man of precise measurements and sharper deductions, a scholar who believed that the world was a machine of logic, not magic. Yet, the...
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