The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 15:16:30 -

The Wistful Ashes

The seal was broken. Not by force. By time. Silas stood in the center of the Hall of Records. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light. They were thick. Like snow. Like ash. He held the parchment. It was thin. Dry. It smelled of iron. Of old blood. The scribe, old Master Aldous, sat behind the desk. His eyes were closed. He breathed shallow. A rattle in his chest. “You broke it,” Aldous...

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