The Faded Quadrant
The carriage wheels groaned against the packed earth of the King’s Highway, a sound that seemed to rise from the bones of the earth itself, as if the journey toward the Citadel of Whispers was not merely a travel but a summoning. Aldous Thorne sat with his back against the oak paneling, his hands resting on the leather case that contained the Astrolabe of St. Jude, an instrument of such...
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