The Distant Promise
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sound, a low, tearing groan that seemed to rise from the very bedrock of the Blackwood Monastery, a place where the stone was old enough to remember the weight of empires and the dust of forgotten kings. Brother Thomas stood in the center of the scriptorium, his hands stained with the ink of centuries, watching as the vellum in his care curled and...
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