The Distant Blade
The fog rolled in from the harbor. It was thick. It smelled of rust and salt. Elias stood on the pier. He held his bag. It was heavy. It contained books. Paper. Ink. Behind him, the ship waited. The *Aethelgard*. Its hull groaned. A deep, industrial sound. Metal on metal. "Are you coming, Elias?" The voice was soft. It came from the shadow of the crates. Elias did not turn. He looked at the...
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