The Pale Banner
The chandelier above the mayor’s table did not just hang; it dominated, a sprawling constellation of crystal and brass that cast fractured light across the faces of the city’s elite, illuminating the sweat on Elias Thorne’s brow as he stood in the shadow of the room’s grandeur. He was forty-two, a municipal archivist with a spine that had begun to curve from years of bending over dusty ledgers,...
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