The Faded Shield
The ink was still wet on the parchment when the torches were lit, and Elias Thorne watched the flames lick the edges of his life’s work with a calm that felt less like peace and more like the numbness of a limb cut off. He was thirty years old, a scholar of the Imperial Court’s history, and he had spent five years proving that the King’s justice was a lie, a fabrication built on the bones of...
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