The Faded Paradox
The carriage wheels ground against the cobblestones of the King’s Square, a sound like the grinding of teeth in a long, silent argument, as Elias Thorne stepped down into the mud that smelled of rain and old iron. He carried no luggage but a single, leather-bound satchel that bulged against his hip, and he walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of a man who had already outlived his own...
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