The Wistful Ashes
The bell tolled. Seven times. The sound was a physical weight, pressing against the windows of the Great Hall. Elias stood by the window. His hands were steady. They had always been steady. He was the Keeper of the Word. For forty years, he had guarded the Lexicon. It was not a book. It was a room. A cold, stone room deep beneath the Abbey. He turned from the glass. The frost had drawn ferns on...
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