The Distant Cartograph
The bell tower stood alone on the granite shelf of the North Sea cliffs, a jagged tooth of grey stone jutting into the perpetual mist. It had no clock face, no belfry, only a single, narrow window high above the ground that glowed with a faint, amber pulse, like the eye of a sleeping god. Elias, aged ten and bearing the hollow, sunken look of a child who has seen too much death for his own...
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