The Faded Road
The parchment was not merely old; it was the only thing in the world that had not yet decayed, a singular point of permanence suspended in the air of the great hall while the dust motes danced in the shafts of afternoon light like the ghosts of a former age. I held it with a reverence that bordered on the sacrilegious, my fingers trembling not from fear but from the sheer, overwhelming weight...
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