The Pale Tower
The scribe’s name was called out from the shadows of the archive, a low, gravelly sound that seemed to rise from the damp stone floor rather than from the man standing in the doorway. Elias turned, his quill suspended above the parchment, and watched as Magistrate Thorne stepped into the single beam of light cutting through the high, barred window, his face a mask of weary resignation that did...
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