The Distant Cartograph
The sky broke open on the eve of the harvest, not with thunder, but with a silence so heavy it crushed the breath from the lungs of the valley. The rain that followed did not fall; it descended like a curtain of grey silk, washing the world clean of its color and leaving behind only the bone-white geometry of the stone walls. In the great hall of the keep, the air was thick with the scent of...
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