The Distant Blade
The chandelier above you burns with a cold, surgical precision. You stand in the center of the Hall of Echoes, a vast room of polished mahogany and pale stone, where the air is thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper. Your uniform is immaculate. The wool is fine, tailored to the inch, pressing against your shoulders with a weight that feels less like fabric and more like armor. You are a...
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