The Golden Circuit
The ink on the parchment was still wet, a dark pool that seemed to drink the candlelight, as Elias Thorne sat in the high tower of the Obsidian Citadel, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old paper. He was a scholar of the Court’s forbidden histories, a man whose mind was a labyrinth of dates and treaties, yet who felt increasingly like a stranger in his own life, a ghost haunting the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews