The Distant Blade

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2026-08-20 12:16:01 -

The Distant Blade

The ink was drying on the parchment, a wet, black scar against the pale vellum, and I could feel the weight of the quill in my hand, a weight that seemed to press down not just on my fingers but on the very air of the scriptorium, thick with the smell of oak gall and iron and the faint, sweet decay of old paper, a smell that had become so familiar to me over the last three years that it had...

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