The Wistful Voyage
The silver astrolabe sat upon the velvet cushion, its brass gears silent, its etched constellations dull with age. It was a thing of such precise, cold perfection that it seemed less an instrument of navigation and more a monument to the futility of mapping the infinite. Sir Julian Vane, the Royal Cartographer, watched it with eyes that had seen too many horizons dissolve into mist. He was a...
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