The Wistful Mountain
"You have brought the fire to the threshold, Elias, but you have forgotten to bring the hearth," said the Magistrate, his voice low and resonant in the vast, stone-vaulted hall of the Citadel, a place that smelled of damp moss and ancient, unspoken grief. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the silence that had settled over the assembly of the Guild of the Silver Hammer,...
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