The Wistful Skyline
The carriage wheels groaned against the cobblestones of the Abbey Gate, a sound like the teeth of the earth grinding in its sleep. Elara Vane sat upright in the corner of the vehicle, her fingers intertwined so tightly that the knuckles had turned the color of old parchment, watching the mist peel back to reveal the silhouette of the Institute of the Quiet Mind rising from the fog like a...
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