The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 13:56:25 -

The air in the Hall of Whispers did not smell of incense or old parchment, as the legends claimed. It smelled of wet wool and iron filings, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of Caelan’s throat. He stood before the High Chancellor, a man whose face was less a face and more a topographical map of wrinkles, deep and shifting like dried riverbeds. "You are late," the Chancellor said. His...

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