The Faded Shield
The fog had rolled in off the North Sea with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a physical weight pressing against the glass panes of the Great Hall, a damp, grey shroud that muffled the sound of the clock striking the hour and turned the gaslight into a sickly, yellow smear on the polished oak floor where Elias Thorne stood with his back to the heavy, iron-bound doors of...
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