The Distant Cartograph

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2026-08-21 17:45:41 -

The feast was a thing of iron and oil. We ate with our hands, tearing at roasted boar that sizzled against the cold stone of the hall. The air was thick, a tangible weight of smoke and unwashed bodies, hanging low over the tables. I sat at the high end, not as a guest, but as the architect of the map that defined our existence. Around me, the men laughed, a harsh, grating sound that scraped...

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